Old Songs
by Chapin CSI
Summary: GS Grissom's life takes a turn after a kid commits suicide. Why is he feeling guilty? Some old songs bring memories. A Pink Floyd album starts it all...Note: mention of child abuse.
1. Default Chapter

This story is a sequel to  "Hello and Goodbye", when Sara asked Grissom to forget that she had asked him out.  She wanted things to be like they were before.  
    
    But Grissom's life will never be the same.

***

Each chapter will contain an old song that somehow relates to Grissom's personal life and hopefully will help him have faith in love.  These songs are from the sixties, seventies and eighties.

This is a Grissom/Sara Fic.


	2. Under Pressure

UNDER PRESSURE

A WEEK AGO

Grissom looked at the single sheet of paper resting on his desk. It wasn't the first time he'd ever filled out a Request for Leave of Absence, but this time he had hesitated before filling each line and right now he couldn't bring himself to sign it.

He'd really thought he'd stay in Las Vegas a little longer. Oh, he knew better than to hold on to things like posts and titles, but he had liked it here. Sixteen years didn't feel long; he had loved his work and the routine had been comforting; he had been in control; there had been a healthy balance between his job and his private life. At least up until a few months ago.

Different things had shaken down that precious balance and suddenly he felt he couldn't handle life here anymore.

First, the possibility of losing his hearing. It had forced him to face the fact that he might have to start over. He could write or teach, of course; it certainly wasn't the end of the world but he dreaded any change. He'd been relieved when the operation was a success but by then Sara had asked him out, shaking the foundations of their relationship and that balance that Grissom treasured so much. He dealt with it by denying there was any problem.

And then other things happened that would have mattered very little if he had dealt with them from the beginning:

Nick, whining about wanting to work solo

Nick and Sara urging him to make a decision about the promotion

Rumors that Catherine had been seeing Sam Braun

Eckley, telling him that someone had seen Warrick entering a Casino…

Grissom never confronted his coworkers. As long as they did their jobs, he'd let them whine and sulk and live their private lives as they wished. Balance, he told himself.

And then he'd blown off that precarious balance by getting personally involved in a case. The Melvin Martin case.

Grissom had met ten year old Melvin when he'd gone to process a crime scene. A kid had shot and killed another and Melvin Martin had been one of the victim's closest friends. And a witness.After Brass asked the kid some questions, Grissom had contacted the mother and recommended her to take Melvin to a Therapist. He felt the kid needed someone to talk things over. Later, when Grissom learned that Melvin had stopped going to counseling, he'd tried to talk to the mother and then the father, telling them that Melvin presented signs of severe depression and might be suicidal. The father started refusing to take Grissom's calls and even threatened to sue Grissom if he didn't stop bothering them. A short time later, the kid had committed suicide.When Grissom got the news that Melvin had died and that his father was in the building, he went down to he morgue.Nobody would ever forget the look on his face as he did. He looked as if he were going to kill someone. Of course, nobody really expected him to act with violence, least of all poor doc Robbins who tried unsuccessfully to pull Grissom off the man; in the end he'd had to call Brass.By the time they'd taken Grissom off Mr. Martin, the man had a fractured nose, severe contusions and three broken fingers and Grissom himself had a bruised face. Grissom didn't care. Nobody would ever forget Gil Grissom fighting back tears as he saw the kid's body. Brass had pushed him into an interrogation room and had chastised him for putting cases and his own career in jeopardy, but Grissom didn't care. He'd just kept a bag of ice over his bruised eye and kept silent.In the end Grissom had received a two-week suspension only; Mr. Martin had made a deal with the DA: He wouldn't press charges against CSI if the DA didn't press charges of child neglect against him.Days later, Catherine had asked him why he'd been so sure that the kid was going to kill himself, he'd only replied that he'd seen that look before. Grissom refused to add anything to that and in time he forced himself not to think about the kid anymore. Upon his return to work, everybody treated him with a gentleness that made him feel worse. He didn't want that kind of attention! To Grissom, it was as if his coworkers were kids afraid of daddy. He could almost imagining them telling each other, "Shhh, don't upset daddy or he'll go crazy again" After a week of this, Grissom felt that his position at CSI was unbearable and on an impulse, he started calling people who had offered him jobs in the past. He told himself that he could work somewhere else; he'd write or teach or even start a new lab. But his life in Las Vegas was over.It was a matter of survival. He'd always liked the fact that his work came first in his mind and in the minds of others. Now that people looked fearfully at him, he knew it was time to leave. Grissom took a deep breath and took his pen.He signed the form, put it in an envelope and addressed it. YESTERDAY 

Grissom was packing his diplomas when someone in a nearby office turned on the radio. He paused to listen.

_Pressure pushing down on me_

_Pressing down on you no man ask for__…._

_These are the days_

_I__t never rains but it pours_

__

_Turned away from it all_

_Can't we give ourselves one more chance?_

_Why can't we give love that one more chance?_

_Why can't we give love give love give love?_

_Cause love's such an old fashioned word_

_And love dares you to care_

_For the people on the edge of the night_

_And love dares you to change our way_

_Of caring about ourselves_

He was wondering about the lyrics when Brass entered his office.

"Looks like you're moving" he noted

"I'm cleaning house for Catherine"

"Uh, huh." He crossed his arms "By the way, I heard you have a job waiting for you in Chicago.

Grissom crossed his arms.

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that, Jim; cops are notorious gossipers. It's just an offer," he shrugged "I still don't know if I'll accept it, although it would be the right thing to do" he said, sealing the box. "Everybody here would get a promotion, a raise-"

"What about you? Do you think your problems will disappear?"

"Sure. Each of my problems has a name. Nick, Sara, Catherine, Warrick, Brass" he said pointedly "I won't be jeopardizing your cases anymore-"

"Hey, you can't blame me for caring about my cases!" Brass protested, "But Gil, you can't erase problems; you have to solve them. You might change jobs but you'll still have to deal with the Martin case."

"I don't need to deal with it. It's a closed case." Grissom sat behind his desk. He looked around thoughtfully and then he sighed "I've been walking a fine like lately, Jim. I can't trust myself anymore-"

"Hey, listen, buddy: We all hit a wall some time in our life." Brass said reasonably, "But what you are doing here is dangerous, Gil. Denial only complicates matters. Your life becomes a ticking bomb-"

"Maybe" Grissom admitted, leaning back on his chair "But don't worry; I won't go off here."

Brass shook his head and left.

Grissom distractedly muttered a song.

_Can't we give ourselves one more chance?__Why can't we give love that one more chance?_

Damn; now he'd never be able to get those lyrics out of his head now.

(The song is "Under Pressure", performed by Queen and David Bowie, abused years later by Vanilla Ice)


	3. Nowhere to go

NOWHERE TO GO

YESTERDAY EVENING:

Grissom was finishing with the packing. Occasionally someone from the day shift had peered into his office and mumbled some awkward words of goodbye; Grissom mused that nobody as really surprised that he had taken this leave of absence. Even the Sheriff had reacted favorably, which told Grissom just how unbearable his position had become in the lab.

And just when he thought he was ready to leave, Sara knocked on his open door.

"Hey" She smiled. Grissom noticed it was her 'I-m-so-nervous-I-could-throw-up' smile

"Hey, Sara." He smiled "Come in."

She entered and looked around, nervously rubbing her arms.

"Your office feels so cold without the clutter"

"No more specimens and spiders," he smiled. Then he lowered his voice conspiratorially "But I've left a very realistic plastic cockroach somewhere…"

"You're so bad!" she laughed "Poor Catherine!"

"Well, it'll make her laugh."

They remained silent for a moment.

Sara mused how once upon a time, they had not needed words to communicate. How a look was enough to know what to do at a crime scene, or what to ask a witness. Or simply what the other was thinking. Those had been innocent times…

She had brought those changes herself and she regretted it. Now Grissom was leaving on vacation for a long time and she feared that their relationship would never be mended.

"So" he broke the silence "Got your DNA results at last?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "It matches the suspect, so-"

"Good. It'll make things easier" he smiled faintly.

"Yes. But, you know. " she shrugged, "Lawyers…"

"Yeah." He nodded warily, "I know."

And again the silence. She looked at him in the eye for the first time, and for the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Don't worry, Sara. I'll be fine." He said gently, "Really"

"I know, Grissom. It's just- I know you feel uncomfortable about what happened, but I really think that what you did was very brave"

"You mean breaking someone's nose?" he said good-humoredly.

"No. Helping someone. If the school authorities had followed your recommendation-"

"Yes. Well, it's over now- " he said evasively.

"Still, they will keep an eye on the father, and the kid's brothers will get some counseling, so…" She looked at him again. "I just think that you've taken this too hard, and-"

"Sara, don't worry about me." He interrupted "Please."

"Ok. I won't." she said softly, "It's just that seeing you leave like this-"

"It's just a few weeks." He said quickly.

"Yeah, but…" She was afraid that he wasn't coming back but she couldn't say that. She forced herself to take a deep breath and after a moment she looked up again, smiling brightly for his sake "Never mind. So, are you really going fishing,?"

"Yes "

"Good" she nodded. "I hope you enjoy yourself."

They remained in front of each other, separated by the desk. It reminded Sara that they weren't friends anymore, but boss and subordinate.

"Grissom. I wanted to tell you…" she hesitated.

Grissom held his breath 'She's going to break my heart again' he thought, bracing himself. 'She's going to say that she regrets what she said in the past, or that she didn't mean it-'

Bur she didn't speak right away. She placed her shoulder bag on his desk and rummaged through it until she found a manila envelope. She offered it to Grissom

"This is for you." When she noticed Grissom's frown she hurried to explain, "It's a surprise, so please don't open it here. Please. Open it in the plane, or when you're in the middle of the ocean" she smiled.

"What is it?"

"It's a surprise" she insisted, and then she added teasingly, "You like surprises, don't you?"

"Thank you," he said slowly, accepting the envelope.

Sara smiled and went to the door. She turned to look at him.

"So. " she said, "This is it, huh? You go on a long vacation and we remain behind, full of envy."

Grissom smiled at that.

"I guess" he nodded

"Remember," she said, "'Catch and release', ok?"

"Yes."

"Send us a postcard" she said quietly and, before she did what she really wanted to, which was to run and throw her arms around him, she waved her hand and left.

Grissom looked for the longest time, until he heard the noises that announced that the day shift was leaving. He had to hurry.

Grissom was trying to decide which box to take down first, when Greg entered his office.

"Hey, Grissom, glad to see you're still here!" he was breathless "I've got something for you!"

He bounced happily into the office and placed a paper bag on the desk. With great care, he took something out and presented it to Grissom.

"It's The Wall!" he smiled "I know you like Pink Floyd! I saw it and I thought you'd like to listen to it while on vacation!"

"Oh" he already had this album but didn't say so "Thank you, Greg."

"And…" he said, pausing a little before launching into an explanation, "because I'm sure you don't have the necessary equipment to listen to this while away from the comforts of civilization… I mean, you can't haul your stereo out in the ocean… unless you're going to rent a big boat? Nah, I'm guessing you're planning to do your own version of the 'Old man and the sea', right?… Not that you're that old, ok? But I think that if…"

"Greg? I'm a little late here-"

"Oh. Yeah, sorry. What I mean is, I brought you a CD player!" he smiled broadly, taking his prize from the bag "It isn't new but I've taken good care of it. See? It's easy to handle and you can listen to good stuff while catching rubber boots out there-"

"Greg…"

"Yeah, I know. You have a plane to catch, right?"

Actually, what Grissom was going to say was 'thank you' again. Not just for getting him the CD and the player, but for behaving as always. Greg was the only one who hadn't treated him as if he were going to break.

"Just give me a minute" muttered Greg. "Let me put on one disc so you listen to the great sound…Disc two. There. This button lets you play songs at random, see? … Now, do you need help with these boxes?"

Greg enthusiasm was contagious and Grissom merely followed him outside, each carrying a heavy box.

Grissom barely acknowledged the greetings and waves from some of his coworkers, suddenly feeling as if he were just dreaming this.

Greg helped him put the boxes in the trunk and then slapped him on the back

"So, boss, take it easy, ok? And come back soon, man!" he added, and ran back to the building.

Grissom got into his car and leant back on the seat.

This wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.

What was he going to do now?

Everybody believed he had made plans for a vacation. They had really believed him when he said he'd go fishing.

In fact, he had packed a bag, and he had accepted some fishing lures from Doctor Robbins, but he hadn't made any real plans beyond.

Maybe he should just take a plane. Fly away, don't think so much about it. Leave Las Vegas, watch it grow smaller from above. And go… where?

Grissom didn't want to think anymore. He pushed the button and let a song play at random.

NOBODY HOME

I've got a little black book with my poems in   
I've got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in   
I've got electric light   
and I've got second sight   
I've got amazing powers of observation Grissom smiled at that. Yeah, he had those. And a little black book with notes that he had made long ago. And a bag, ready for a vacation he didn't want. 

and that is how I know   
when I try to get through   
on the telephone to you   
there'll be nobody home

I've got wild staring eyes   
I've got a strong urge to fly   
But I've got nowhere to fly to

"…a strong urge to fly" he sang along "But I've got nowhere to fly to, fly to…"

The song is NOBODY HOME by Pink Floyd, from the album The Wall.

TBC


	4. Over You

OVER YOU

Spoiler: the Accused is Entitled

Song: Over You by Jerry Fuller and performed by Gary Puckett and the Union Gap

YESTERDAY EVENING:

It was getting late and Grissom was still at the CSI parking lot, listening to the Pink Floyd CD. He was once again telling himself that it was time to go home, when something distracted him. A guy he knew was walking towards a shaded area of the parking lot. Hank Pedigrew . Grissom shook his head. He couldn't figure this guy out. Why had he cheated on Sara like that? He was musing on this, when to his amazement, he saw Sara hurrying to join the man.

Grissom watched in fascination as they began to talk, and although he couldn't hear them, he could imagine what they were saying.

It was more than he could take. Finally he had a reason to drive away.

Hank smiled tentatively.

"Thank you for coming, Sara, I wasn't sure if you would want to talk -"

"It's ok." she interrupted "Just hurry, ok? Catherine is about to assign our new cases."

"Yes. I…" he hesitated, "I wanted to apologize to you, for… you know." He looked down briefly, then at her, "I wish I could undo any pain I caused you but I know I can't. I just want you to know that I cared about you; I… I wasn't playing-"

"Actually, you were." she interrupted with a weak smile.

"Yes, but I was truly interested in you. You're very special, Sara; in other circumstances I'd choose to be with you, believe me."

"Well. Ok. Thanks." She nodded just to end this conversation faster "Is… Is that all?"

"Yes." He nodded, then he hesitated, "Um. No, wait. Sara, I… I guess I have no right to intrude in your life after what happened, but I have to tell you this. You should take this chance to start over. Now that he's gone it will be easier."

Sara was momentarily confused, "What are you talking about?"

"Your boss, Sara. I know how you feel about him"

She blinked.

"… Excuse me?"

"Sara, you used to whisper his name when we were in bed. The few times we had sex, you…" he saw her shaking her head, denying it "Yes, you did." He insisted, "I never said anything because, after all, I wasn't being honest either"

Sara flushed.

"I… " she hesitated "I have to go." Sara ran back to the building.

LAST NIGHT:

Grissom's place:

Grissom couldn't sleep; after trying several relaxation techniques and failing, he threw the covers away and stumbled to the kitchen to make some tea.

He couldn't stop thinking of the events of the day. The goodbyes, the good wishes, Sara coming and giving him that envelope, and more importantly, Sara going to Hank like that…

He couldn't help thinking of her. During sleepless hours like these, his thoughts strayed in her direction. Always.

Sometimes he felt those thoughts were like a gift; something beautiful among the dark images that plagued his mind after a hard night's work. Other times, those thoughts were a burden, like today.

Grissom sighed exasperatedly. He didn't want to think of her; he needed some distraction. A book, some music…

He put on the kettle, turned on the little radio that he kept in the kitchen, and went to the living room.

There was a pile of unread books on the coffee table and he took the one at the top. He opened it but before he even read the title he glanced at the books at the bottom of the pile. Those still had their plastic cover on. He had resisted even thinking about them, but tonight his resistance was a little weak. He reached out and took one and slowly unwrapped it.

He had bought these on a Friday evening, just before going to work. He had been browsing around, when, for no reason, really, he glanced outside and saw her. Sara. He frowned. She had asked to have Friday free and he had granted it, without making any inquiry but now he was curious.

He noticed that she was walking slowly and carefully, as if she was having trouble with her shoes. Grissom frowned and went outside. He got the surprise of his life: She was wearing high-heeled shoes, the kind she swore she'd never wear. Open, flirty shoes. And, more surprises, she was wearing a skirt.

Grissom watched her from the bookstore entrance, wondering where she was going, dressed like this. He would have gone after her, but she stopped on the corner, in front of an Italian restaurant. She looked around, clearly waiting for someone.

Grissom kept looking, even though by now he knew who she was waiting for and the last thing he wanted was to see them together…

Just a week before, Catherine had asked him if it bothered him that Sara was dating Hank, and he'd answered with a curt 'no' that left no room for more questions. And he wasn't lying, it did not bother him.

Oh, at first it had upset him; when Phillip Gerard had told him that Sara and Hank were dating, it had felt like a betrayal. If he and Sara had been alone at that moment, he would have asked her why, why couldn't she be satisfied with what they had. But Gerard's presence had prevented all that, and he was glad, for it gave him time to think.

So, when he'd told Sara that she had a right to have a boyfriend, he had been honest. He truly believed that she needed some distraction outside of the work place, and if there was a little romance in it, well, she was entitled.

After all, no matter who she was with, nobody would ever have the Sara he knew. That Sara was his, only. The one who wrote those e-mails he'd treasured all those years ago; the one who read all those books; the Sara who worked side by side with him, no matter where or how; who was loyal and strong and courageous. Yeah, the one who others called socially clumsy, or 'a pest'. To him, she was the real Sara and that guy Pedigrew would never have her.

For instance, one of the first things she did for this guy was to smother her face in make up. She looked good, but just the fact that she needed to paint herself a new face said enough.

And now she was wearing flirty sandals that would surely hurt her feet, as if she felt it necessary to change who she was, just for the sake of this guy.

Grissom would have never asked her to change.

…He noticed how eagerly she looked around. How nervous, maybe fearing that he wouldn't come. Was Sara too early, Grissom wondered, or was Hank too late?

A sudden pang of regret gripped his heart. He'd never let her wait like this, Grissom mused; he would have been on time; much earlier, even, so he'd watch out for her and enjoy the sight of her walking down the street. He'd shush her apologies; he'd simply take her hand and lead her into that restaurant. He'd offer her a chair if she liked that kind of attention (this last thought made him smile); he'd recommend the perfect wine for her salad, and split a cassata with her. She'd look beautiful in candle light and, let's face it, that light would be good for him, too.

She would smile warmly and tell him-

Hank came hurriedly, kissed Sara, and explained something about the time –too late, too early, what? – and she was smiling, saying, 'it's ok, I understand' and then they were gone.

Grissom remained there for a few minutes, staring at the empty corner. Then, suddenly remembering where he was, turned back to the store, chose a couple or books, paid, and left.

He didn't mind, he'd told himself over and over. As long as she was there, by his side,

he'd get by.

And even if he left Vegas, she'd still be just a phone call away. That was the beauty of their relationship.

Grissom went to the kitchen to fix his tea and looked at the manila envelope that Sara had given him. He had left it on the kitchen counter while he decided when to open it. Sara had asked him to do it far away, but he wasn't going anywhere for a long time, was he? He patted the envelope, noticing there were several objects in it; a small box, something flat and hard, and something else… He opened the envelope and took out the flat object on top. It was a picture. There were some messages written in the back, but he looked at the image first.

The night crew and a few guests. All smiling and holding a banner that read, "Come back soon, Boss". He smiled a little; it was a nice touch. Then he noticed that Sara wasn't there, so maybe she had taken the picture. When he looked at the back he saw that everybody had written something and signed; little poems, something funny from Greg, something caustic from Catherine, something warm from Jacqui and Archie. But nothing from Sara. Grissom couldn't believe that she of all people would not write something. What did it mean?

"You really could be too late" she had said once. Until tonight he hadn't realized how it would feel like to be late. The utter despair… the loneliness…

He thought of how she ran to meet Hank. His Sara, running to- No. He took a deep breath and shook his head. He needed to think of something else. He tossed the picture away and reached for the radio and turned the volume up, loud enough to drown the pounding of his heart.

'It's nothing', he thought after a moment. 'She brought the envelope; she cared enough to do it. She is still my friend. That's all I've wanted-' And suddenly he was listening to this

Why am I losing sleep over you

Re-living precious moments we knew

So many days have gone by

Still I'm so lonely and I

Guess there's just no getting over you

And there's nothing I can do

But spend all of my time 

Out of my mind ... over you 

Within the prison walls of my mind

There's still a part of you left behind

And though it hurts, I'll get by

Without your lovin' yet I

Guess there's just no getting over you

And there's nothing I can do

But spend all of my time 

Out of my mind ... over you 

Grissom listened to the song, mesmerized. It was as if they were playing it for him, and the worst part was that apparently there was a problem at the station and they were playing it yet again. He felt as if the singer was really singing to him, cruelly telling him a couple of truths. Things he'd never admit out loud, things he barely wanted to admit to himself:

He wasn't over her. He'd never be. He'd been lying to himself; he'd tried to put her qualities in little boxes, taking some and leaving the rest, telling himself that what he had was enough… But it wasn't true. He would have loved to have Hank's Sara too; the one with the make up and the skirts and the complicated shoes. He'd wanted Sara, period.

But he'd lost his chance… all his chances. And now she was back with Hank. God, it hurt.

Grissom quickly turned off the radio, so violently that he sent it crashing against the wall. He stood there, breathing hard, something painful exploding in his chest.


	5. Numb

NUMB

The songs:

"Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd presents a dialogue between Doctor and Patient and it's a haunting song that was recently transformed into a mindless disco tune by Scissor Sisters. If Grissom heard what they did to that beautiful song, he'd lose all will to live.

"For the Love of Him" Performed by Bobbi Smith. It's an old, old, old song

"If Leaving me is easy" by Phil Collins

TODAY, EARLY MORNING

Grissom had a strong survival instinct.  He quickly regained control of his emotions, no matter how hard a situation.  So, a few hours after the little outburst in the kitchen, he had moved on. 

He had some tea and then tried to read, but he really couldn't concentrate and the light from the lamp on his desk was bothering his eyes.  He tossed the book aside and simply sat back on the couch, watching old AMC movies and waiting for dawn to come.  He thought the coming of a new day might help him, but as the hours passed, he realized that he wasn't feeling well.  He had a light fever, he was shivery- in short, he was feeling like shit. He wasn't going to take any medicine, though.  He was pretty sure that it wasn't serious.

"You're experiencing psychosomatic reactions, Grissom" he muttered "shame on you". 

Morosely, he stumbled to the kitchen and drank the last of the tea, then sheepishly picked up the plastic radio that he had tossed away the night before.  He turned it on and was grateful that the poor thing was till functioning.  He carefully placed the radio on the kitchen counter and  He opened the fridge but there was nothing appealing in it. 

When he opens the door says 'I'm home'

Beware of the look in his eyes

They'll tell you the mood he's in

What kind of day it's been…

Grissom glared at the radio. He hated that song.  It was an inoffensive 60s song really, but to him it had always sounded like an ominous warning.  It told him of battered wives dreading their husbands return, and of kids shushing their little brothers… 'if he's in a bad mood, beware..'

The song brought him some vague memories; whenever he heard it he pictured a little kid glancing at the clock, dreading the passing of the time and telling himself that everything was going to be ok this time. 

He closed his eyes.  He shouldn't be thinking of this.  He should turn off the radio, that's what he should do.

There'll be times when he won't say a word

And you'll wonder if it's something you said…

That's true. Victims of domestic violence usually blamed themselves whenever 'daddy' lost control.  As if domestic violence could be explained so easily. 

His mother used to smile through her tears, and sign 'Don't you worry. Everything is all right' over and over, as if that was enough to calm him down. Oh, please. Even as a kid, Grissom trusted only the evidence:  She had bruises on her face, she was crying. Things were not all right.  Grissom shook his head. He had never understood why his parents had remained together all those years.  His father loved music but his mother pretended not to understand music at all.  She was deaf, so had to sign to communicate with her, but if she wasn't in the mood to listen to him, she simply looked away, cutting him off. When he tried to make her look at him, she simply closed her eyes. Then he'd get angry and wham!

Grissom had learned their little routines; he'd seen his parents' relationship as a sort of demented theater that he tried not to witness too often.  As soon as he heard the first screams, he went to the garden or to the attic, to read.  

When the song ended, Grissom blinked. It was amazing how a simple song could bring back these memories, he mused.   He usually avoided thinking of the past but apparently he was a little vulnerable today.

Well, what he needed was some distraction.

If he was going to leave Las Vegas, he needed to start packing.  He had sent his cockroaches to a friend in San Francisco, and he had donated his maggot farms to a local school, but what about his files and his albums?

He had a lot to do. 

Grissom took a deep breath.  There were about twenty boxes in this closet, each with its own label, 'Family photo albums,' 'Diplomas', 'Diaries'.   He gazed at the boxes for a long time. He reached for the box with the Diaries, then for one labeled, 'Job Applications' and then for another, but he couldn't bring himself to open any of them. Maybe it was because of the fever, but he couldn't concentrate on this task.

'What if I simply take everything?' he wondered.  He could afford it, couldn't he?

He certainly didn't want to decide what to keep and what to toss just now that he felt so depressed.  Yes, at last he had admitted it.  He was depressed.  He sat on the floor and looked around.

'Maybe I should leave everything' he mused. 'And simply fly away,'

Leave Gil Grissom behind and become someone else; shed a skin, and start anew…

That sounded good, actually…

Yeah, right. He shook his head and read the labels of the boxes closest to the door.

'Seminars 1990-1995' 'Seminars 1996-1999' 'S.S.'  His heart beat faster; for a moment he thought he'd like to open that, a box containing pictures from that seminar that Sara had attended when they met, and copies of some e-mails she had sent him afterwards. 

Grissom snorted.  Oh, for God's sake, how besotted can a guy get? The only thing missing in there was a lock of her hair.  He touched the box, knowing that he didn't have to open it  to remember what those pictures looked like, or what the e-mails said. He had read the messages over and over and had looked at those pictures countless of times. He and Sara were together on each one.  Smiling, talking to each other or to someone else, but always side by side and in the middle of a group.  They looked like wedding pictures. 

Grissom remembered looking at the pictures and speculating about Sara's feelings for him, and wondering if he'd ever get the guts to tell her… to ask her out…  He was musing about this, when Phil Collins started to sing:

I read all the letters, I read each word that you've sent to me   
and though it's past now, and the words start to fade   
all the memories I have, still remain

I've kept all the pictures, but I hide my feelings so no-one knows   
It's 'cos you're gone now, but your heart, still remains

"Oh, for God's sake" Grissom muttered, looking at the radio.

But I didn't believe it, not you,   
No you would not let me go   
Seems I was wrong, but I love, I love you the same   
And that's the one thing that you can't take away but just remember...

If leaving me is easy, coming back is harder…

Grissom sighed and got up.  Well, no, leaving wasn't easy, but he would never come back.  He knew himself well enough to realize that.  It was better this way. He'd leave all this in storage and in a few years he'd open each box and decide what to do. But not today.

TEN O'CLOCK

Grissom was back in the living room, listening The Wall and organizing his curriculum, when someone called.  He recognized the caller's number and picked up immediately.

"Grissom"

"Finally!" his friend exclaimed cheerfully "Dr. Grissom, this is Dr. Cole, calling!" 

"Hey, Gar, did you get my cockroaches?"

"Don't you ever check your messages, Gil?  I've been sending you e-mails since I got your babies yesterday!  They are fine, so don't worry, but why did you send them over?  Are you giving me an early birthday present? Ha, ha!"

"No, I'm not!" he glared at the phone, "I only need you to take care of them for a month or two.  You can, right?"

"Sure. What are you up to?"

"Nothing, really; I'm taking a leave of absence, and-"

"Whoa, a leave of absence? Last time you applied for one, you were already packing for Las Vegas!" he paused "Is that it?  Are you changing posts?"

"Maybe."  Grissom rubbed his face "I haven't decided yet."

"Oh. I thought you liked it there"

"I do. I just thought a change would be good"

"Change?  You?  Come on, Gil, I know you.  Something happened; what is it?"

"Well…" he sighed, and decided that talking about it with a friend might help "I made a big mess here.  Hit someone"

"Shit, man, why?"

Grissom calmly recounted the facts, trying to sound detached, but Cole was concerned.

"How badly did you hit this guy?"

Grissom looked at his right hand and noticed the faint scars on his knuckles. John Martin's teeth had caused some laceration, after all.  Grissom remembered that night.  He always would.

…  John Martin's voice could be heard from the stairs; he was demanding that Doc Robbins release Melvin's body because he really didn't have time to spare.  When Grissom appeared at the end of the hall, he enjoyed the fact that Martin paled and stepped back.

"Hey," Grissom called out,  "Do you realize what you've done?"

"Look, Mr. Grissom, I only came for the kid.  I wouldn't even be here if these damn bureaucrats knew their job-"

"Do you realize what you've done!" Grissom repeated and practically threw himself at Martin, smashing him against the wall. He didn't really feel any of Martin's punches; he was too busy relishing the look of surprise on the man's face, his screams for help, and the sound of bones crunching under his fist… He barely realized that poor Robbins was trying to pull him off until he heard him scream, "Gil, for God's sake, leave him, leave him! David, call Brass!"…

"I broke his nose." Grissom informed Cole "Some ribs, too, I think" Cole didn't comment, which felt like disapproval, so Grissom added humorously "Hey, I got a black eye and some lacerated knuckles!"

"And what did you do it for?"

"Well…I guess I wanted him to admit that he didn't do enough for his son-"

"Suicide cases are hard on parents, even if they don't show their emotions.  You know that." Cole sighed  "Gil, why don't you come down to San Francisco?"

"Well..." Grissom was surprised by the offer "I don't know-"

"Maggie would love to see you and the kids would take you to every game…  I can take a few days off myself-"

"Gary, I'm fine-"

"Really?  You hit a guy, and you say you're fine?"

"I only got a two-week suspension-"

"Gil, I'm not worried about your career.  I'm worried about you.  The truth is, you never handle these situations well"

Grissom was truly mystified "What do you mean?"

"Well, Gil, you rarely have emotional outbursts, but when you do… after the adrenaline rush drops, you get depressed"

Gil stared at the phone.

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember when you were in College?  You spent some months seriously depressed until Phillip Gerard -"

"What?" Grissom interrupted "I wasn't depressed in College!"

"Yes, buddy, you were.  Nobody noticed because you dealt with it by sleeping around, and getting high and drunk."

"Come on, everybody did that in College!" he protested

"Sure. But with you it was sudden.  One day you were serious about your studies and the next two months you forgot all about them.   It wasn't until Gerard intervened that I realized… that you weren't really partying; you were trying to numb yourself.  Those were your own words, by the way"

Grissom was trying to remember what the hell he had babbled to this guy.

"Gerard convinced you to go back to your studies and to use all that energy into something positive.  He made one mistake, though.  He didn't really help you.  He gave you the tools to survive but didn't try to understand.  He should have made you get some counseling." he sighed, "I didn't help either, Gil.  I was just glad that you were coming back to class-"

Grissom did remember that Gerard and Cole had once taken him out of a party and had helped him sober up.

"Gil, use your anger positively" Phillip Gerard had said, "Work for a better world"

Grissom had almost laughed at that.  He didn't feel capable of heroic acts then; he had a hangover and was just coming to terms with the fact that he had wasted two months.

"Someone with your intelligence and knowledge..." Gerard had added "you're a natural investigator; you should use your energy-"

Grissom ended up taking Gerard's advice, and he had eventually become his best student.

He had depended on the older man, had trusted him, and considered him a friend, a mentor, and a father figure. 

Well, that father figure had betrayed him. Phillip Gerard knew that Grissom loved Sara; he was perhaps the only person he'd ever trusted to that extend. "I met a girl...," he had said and Gerard had nodded encouragingly, using the same smile he used when he told him that Sara was dating Hank...

Grissom was pissed at Cole for reminding him of all this.

"Well, all right, so I drank too much.  I'm not going to do that now.  I know I made a mistake when I hit that guy; I made it personal.  I just don't need someone trying to diagnose my behavior- "

"Come on, Gil, I'm just concerned, that's all; you're my friend-"

"Well, act like one." He said curtly "Just take care of my champions, just- Look, I don't feel too good right now and I'll have to hang up-"

"No, wait! Gil, come on, talk to me." He pleaded, "I'm your friend, and I won't let you down this time; you can trust me-"

Grissom closed his eyes suddenly, feeling as if someone had stabbed him in the forehead.

"Oh, crap" he moaned, cursing himself for missing the signs.

"What is it?" Cole was alarmed

"Migraine" he gasped, "It's bad-"

"Damn, man, do you have your medicine at hand?"

"No," he glared, "I'm the living room! Oh, damn" he moaned "Bye, Gar-"

"No, Gil; don't hang up! Go take your pills and come back, ok?"

"No way... no way..." he muttered and let the phone fall to the floor.  He kept a hand pressed on the left side of his face, and with the other he felt his way to the bathroom.  He blindly found the medicine cabinet and his migraine pills before he was violently sick on the sink. 

'What is wrong with me?' he whispered as he painfully heaved.  He had never let it go this far; he knew himself, he always had things under control…

This time he couldn't even manage to get a glass of water; it slipped from his fingers though, and crashed on the floor.  He cursed his clumsiness and ended up drinking water directly from the tap.

Then he slipped to the floor, exhausted.  He tried to avoid the broken glass, and waited for  the pills to work their magic, using some breathing exercises to calm down.  

He heard some faint music coming from the living room and he let it lull him.  

(Doctor) Hello!   
Is there anybody in there   
Just nod if you can hear me …  
…I hear you're feeling down   
I Can ease your pain

In his weakened state, Grissom vaguely realized that even though he had always loved this album, there was something that disturbed him about it.  In the past, he'd always been somewhat depressed after listening to it.   It brought him elusive memories…  He wished he didn't have to listen to this song. It reminded him of Dr. Clark.

That day, at the ER, after they had pumped his stomach, the good doctor had come to talk and he had been very sympathetic.

"Nod if you can hear me" he had said and Grissom still remembered how he, still woozy from the pills, had shaken his head no.

Grissom had fallen for it.  He still used that trick on sullen witnesses, who invariably shook their head no, too.

(Patient)

There is no pain, you are receding   
a distant ship, smoke on the horizon   
You're only coming through in waves   
Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying

Dr. Clark had been kind and gentle but Grissom just wanted to sleep.  That's what he told him in the end; that he'd taken all those pills because he needed to sleep- hell, he hadn't slept in weeks! He wouldn't explain anything beyond that.  He didn't want to hear, he just wanted to forget.

The doctor had recommended that he see a therapist, and the irony was that Grissom himself had had to sign his words so his mother participated in the conversation.

"He is only twelve" His mother insisted.

In the end, claiming that religion was the best therapy, she had taken Grissom to confession.  Grissom groaned, remembering. What the hell could he say to Father Sebastián? 

When I was a child I had a fever   
My hands felt just like two balloons   
Now I've got the feeling once again   
I can't explain, you would not understand   
This is not how I am   
I have become comfortably numb

After the 'incident', everybody acted differently towards him. Some adults pitied him and the few friends he had began to avoid him.  His mother had been concerned, but what she needed in fact was some reassurance that he wouldn't do it again. So, Grissom stopped trying to talk about it and began to sign 'it's all right' over and over.  He smiled ironically when he signed this but it did the trick; his mother finally left him alone.  They moved to another part of the town and he entered a different school and Grissom had a chance to start over. He kept to himself.  He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to be known.

And in time he truly forgot about the 'incident'.  He was… yeah, 'comfortably numb'. He was a good student who refused to shine in class.  He was an average athlete, he didn't have close friends, and he kept his ideas to himself.  Girls loved his looks but found it hard to get close to him:  he was polite but refused to get drawn into love games.  Still, he was dependable, he didn't get in trouble and he respected everybody.  A gray life…

Until he was in College and the wall crumbled.  An emotional outburst, Cole had called it.  Grissom didn't remember what had happened and frankly, he didn't want to know.  Right now, all he wanted was to sleep.

LATE AFTERNOON

Grissom opened the door and glared at Catherine.

"Well, well, the ghost of Christmas Present" he mumbled looking up and down at her.

"What?" she frowned.

"Nothing. I've been having flashbacks all day, like Scrooge."

"Grissom?  Are you drunk?"

"No.  I had a migraine and the pills-" he mumbled, going back to the living room. Catherine cautiously closed the door and followed.  She watched as Grissom sat on the couch and closed his eyes. 

"Are you going to wear that tonight?" he asked severely. 

Catherine looked down at herself. She was wearing a nice little black dress and very high heels.  She smiled.

"I have a date, Grissom" she explained "After that, I'll turn into a pumpkin and go to work.  I only have two hours for dinner, conversation, and 'dessert', so I'm going to be direct.  What the hell is going on?"

"Where?" he asked, opening his eyes

"I mean with you!  Your pal Gary Cole paged me!  He begged me to come and check up on you!"

"Yeah?  You checked, you can go now"

"He said you might be depressed.  Which isn't that hard to believe; you do look like hell."

"So will you, after 'dessert' ruins your make up." He mumbled, "I'm fine, Catherine-"

"I know you're fine." she said gently "You always say you are." She watched him for a moment "Ah, Grissom," she sighed "You should blow steam more often, you know; then you wouldn't just… explode."

"You are right.  I'll learn, I promise"

Catherine noticed the dismissive tone. "I wonder if you're leaving because you don't want to start hitting everybody else…"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you let little problems grow out of proportion by not dealing with them.  Sara's little crush grew into an all-consuming passion just because you didn't nip it on time.  A few discontented mumblings from Nick and Sara, which you could have stopped by pulling rank, grew to a point where you could hardly work together anymore. You refused to ask Warrick if he was gambling again…"

"And I've also refused to ask you if you are visiting Sam Braun." He interrupted.  He closed his eyes again "If you are, don't tell me.  I don't care"

"Liar.  You do. Maybe you care too much.  Eckley wouldn't lose sleep over Warrick or me. He'd just fire us, which is very healthy for him, don't you think? You should do the next best thing, which is 'to deal with it'.   Warrick isn't gambling, Grissom; I went to Sam Braun's house once, to ask him to stop trying to contact me-"

"I'm glad, Catherine" he said, curtly

She smiled sadly, wondering what else to say. 

"Gil? Cole told me something about you being depressed while in College"

"I just used drugs and drank too much and slept around"

"Sounds like fun." She blurted out to hide her amazement "What happened?"

"I was forced to decide between studying and leaving campus, and I decided to stay."

"No, I mean what made you start in the first place?"

"I don't remember." He looked at her "Look, Cole thinks that I'll start drinking again, but I'm not.  I'm a very sorry drunk, you know?  I tend to spill my guts and I'd rather not do that ever again."

"Wouldn't hurt you if you did.  As I've told you, if you let out steam-"

"I can't burden others with my problems." he interrupted

"Friends do that all time." She said softly, "And you have friends, did you know that?"

Grissom looked away, suddenly feeling bad for being an asshole when people only wanted to help. Catherine looked around and noticed the picture that Grissom had let fall on the floor.  She picked it up and read the messages behind.

"You know, Grissom, this people" she waved the picture "They really want you back"

"I haven't said I won't be back" he argued.

"No, you have not" she said. "But are you?

"I'll try" he said, just to ease her mind a little.

After Catherine left, Grissom decided to stop feeling sorry for himself.  He didn't feel so sick anymore, so he decided to do something with all the free time he had in his hands.

He went to the kitchen to make a call, when he noticed Sara's envelope on the kitchen counter.  He had avoided even looking at it since last night, but now he took it because he  needed some paper to write down a few phone numbers.

There were still some objects in it.  He peered inside.  There was a sheet of paper folded in two and a picture in a plastic holder.


	6. Sara

SARA

Grissom is still being tormented by old songs, but Sara will help…

The songs:

'It don't matter to me ' by Bread

'You've got a friend' by Carole King

'Sara' by Starship

TODAY, EARLY EVENING

Grissom's first impulse was to tear apart the envelope to get faster at the treasure inside, but he stopped himself. He knew that Sara's note would contain nothing but a bitter reminder of all his lost opportunities. Not that Sara would try to hurt him intentionally; it's just that no matter what she said, it wouldn't change the fact that she was back with Hank.

Grissom had already admitted that he wasn't over her, and it hurt. But maybe it was time to deal with the truth and accept it. He'd lost her, all right. What was he going to do about it, get depressed and cry for her? There were several options to that. The first was to leave Vegas.

Determined, Grissom grabbed the phone. He had a leave of absence, well, he'd take advantage of it. He'd fish a little. He'd check out working conditions in Chicago. He'd forget everything else. He wrote a list of things to do and then he acted upon it.

First, and he was surprised at himself, he called his old uncle Herb. The old man was surprised and overjoyed; to Grissom it sounded as if his uncle was crying a little as he spoke: Grissom wouldn't need a hotel, he'd stay with them in the guest room. His wife, (aunt Emmy) would be so happy! Oh, and they would fish, all right. And if he decided to stay, they would help him find a suitable home, and there were some ladies he might introduce him to. That last part didn't thrill Grissom much, but he said he'd be there.

Next, Grissom booked a flight to Chicago, insisting that he needed to leave tonight. He was quite a jerk about it, but he got a seat and that was all that mattered.

He had a lot to do but he was happy; as long as he knew what to do, he flourished under pressure.

Grissom packed his one an only suit in a bag; he packed a few CDs to take along with Greg's CD player; he got some more clothes in his travel bag, and finally, he glanced around, wondering what else to take. He looked at Sara's envelope on the counter. He hesitated. 'Just go away' he muttered to himself, but he couldn't. He grabbed the envelope and shoved it in his bag. He would read her note on a plane, just as she had asked him to.

7:00

Warrick smothered his hamburger with ketchup. He liked his dinners full of flavor and spice, (and heartburn, as Nick said sometimes), and eyed Sara's bland salad with an amused expression. The amusement turned to concern when he saw her carefully taking bacon bits out of it. She had specifically requested a meat-less salad, and the fact that she had not simply sent it back said enough to Warrick. The Sara he knew would have firmly asked the waitress to bring her what she had asked for, and fast, please.

"You're too quiet today, girl"

"And you're too interested in my food." She replied without looking up, "Why are you looking at me?"

"Is there anything better to look at?"

She looked morosely at him, and then back at her food.

"I'm worried, Sara"

"Really?" she put her fork down "What's up?"

Now her attention was on him and Warrick smiled. She had become a good friend; always willing to help him with cases, like tonight. It was her free night but she had agreed to help him go over some evidence.

He wished he could do something for her.

"Well…" he started "There's a friend of mine who's having a hard time and I don't know how to help her"

"A hard time?"

"I think she's in love with a guy who doesn't seem to notice"

She flushed.

"Does that friend need you nosing around her own business?"

"I think so, yeah."

Sara turned back to her food.

"He loves you" Warrick said quietly "He just won't do anything about it"

"Then it's hopeless; big news." She said sarcastically. Then she softened a little. "Warrick, I know he won't do anything. That's ok with me."

"Its not ok." Warrick contradicted, "You're not like that, Sara. You should go to him."

"I tried to talk to him-"

"No, not talk" Warrick smiles "He's not good at that. You should just go to his place with a bottle of red wine and some jazz … something hot and sticky. You'll knock him out."

Sara looked at him for a second and then burst into laughs.

"Yeah. And me in a black teddy, right?" she snorted "I can imagine him, looking at me like a deer about to be struck by a train-"

"Sara, he might not be back," Warrick interrupted "You do know that?"

Her smile froze in her lips. She nodded and looked away.

"And you're willing to let him go?" Warrick insisted "Sara?"

Sara took a deep breath before gazing at him. "He had to decide for himself, one way or the other." She gulped "I can't go to him. I can't make decisions for him"

…It don't matter to me  
If you really feel that  
You need sometime to be free  
Time to go out searching for yourself…

Sara looked at the radio on the cafeteria counter. Warrick listened to the song too.

"That's him," Sara said thoughtfully, "He needs time."

"Sara, he won't 'go searching' for himself; he'll simply ignore himself and start over." Warrick said, observing her profile. His words saddened her but she changed her expression before looking back at him.

She shrugged slightly "He is who he is" she said with finality. She carefully poured a little dressing on her relatively bacon-free salad and tried a bite. Then she mused aloud, "Maybe I want him to leave. We were always better friends on the phone."

And it don't matter to me  
If your searching brings you back together with me  
'cause there'll always be…  
… An open heart waiting for you  
Time is on my side

"Would you wait for him like that song says?" Warrick insisted. "I don't think that would be enough."

Sara took a deep breath and was about to answer when her cell phone stirred in her pocket.

"Sidle-"

"Sidle, Sara 'Lee'!"

There was only one person who called her that, because of her fondness for Sara Lee Cheesecake during her College years.

"Professor Cole?" she frowned

"Yes, Sidle, it's me!" he greeted "Sorry to bother you, but could you to do me a favor-"

Grissom had taken the shortest way to the airport but it had been a mistake; there was a traffic problem somewhere ahead and all vehicles were inching forward.

At least it gave him a lingering last look of Las Vegas. Not that he wouldn't return; he'd come back to pack and to dispose of his home, but he knew that once he decided to leave, he wouldn't want to stay more than a few days.

Grissom wondered if he would miss the lights and the seedy side of the city. Sure, he'd find those everywhere, but the people… Ah, the people. Grissom shook his head briefly. 'Don't think about it' he admonished himself.

A few minutes later he realized that he might lose his flight if they didn't move soon, and that made him anxious.

"Come on, I need to leave tonight!" he muttered impatiently.

Out of habit, Grissom turned on the radio- and immediately turned it off. After the bad times he had had these past two days, he was almost afraid to listen to anything.

'Very interesting, Grissom,' he muttered, 'Now you are afraid of the radio? Come on'

He reached out again, but didn't even touch the dial. He shook his head, impatiently. He couldn't believe he was afraid of hearing some innocent song he probably had heard hundreds of times.

But he knew what it was happening. He had been in an over sensitive state in since his fight with that guy. Once he opened the door to one feeling, all the others kept crowding to get out.

He hated to admit it, but Cole was right; he had never known how to deal with emotions. He let love turn into fear, and let fear turn into pain and anger. Then anger sometimes turned into violence, and violence turned into shame, and shame turned into despair.

Well, he would not let it happen again.

He defiantly turned on the radio.

"This is LV34FM! announced the DJ If you liked the eighties, this is your station! Keep calling! Now, this was a big hit in 1985-"

Grissom sighed with relief ."No bad memories from 1985" he thought.

"-This is Starship, formerly known as Jefferson Starship, with 'Sara'"

"Oh, come on-" Grissom protested under his breath.

_Go now, don't look back, we've drawn the line _  
"I agree" Grissom muttered

_Move on, it's no good to go back in time_

"My thoughts, exactly"   
_I'll never find another girl like you, for happy endings it takes two_

Grissom gaped.

_We're fire and ice, the dream won't come true_

_Sara, Sara, storms are brewin' in your eyes   
Sara, Sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes_

_('Cos Sara) Loved me like no one has ever loved me before_

_(And Sara) Hurt me, no one could ever hurt me more   
(And Sara) Sara, nobody loved me anymore_

Grissom stared outside, not really looking at the traffic and the lights, but at Sara, running to meet Hank. No, no one one could ever hurt him more, and yes, they really were fire and ice, too -her warm love and his cold indifference. How could a song really be about his own life-?

Suddenly Grissom realized that someone was tapping his window and making angry gestures. Grissom blinked, momentarily confused. A cop was shaking his arms and screaming something. Grissom had to read his lips to understand. "move-buddy-move-what-are-you-waiting-for"

Grissom looked around and realized that traffic was flowing on the other lanes and he was probably holding back dozens of cars.

Grissom didn't react, so the cop motioned him to lower his side window. Grissom complied.

"Will you step out sir-" but the man's demeanor changed when he recognized Grissom. "Oh, Mr. Grissom, it's you. You should move, sir"

He nodded to the cop and drove on, but mechanically; his eyes were filling with tears and he needed to stop somewhere and fast. He impulsively turned to an empty street and drove on until he found an empty parking space.

_I'll never find another girl like you, for happy endings it takes two   
We're fire and ice, the dream won't come true_

He held the tears back with an effort and kept his hands on the steering wheel, needing something to hold on.

"It's all right, it's all right…" he whispered over and over, knowing that it wasn't all right. He moaned as a wave of pain exploded in his chest. He had never felt pain like this. He'd never let it go this far before. He'd always, always been in control-

"It's all right, it's all right…" he panted, and took deep breaths until the pain subsided at last. He leant forward and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel.

"You'll lose your flight" he warned himself, but he couldn't drive like this. He still felt as if a cold hand had grasped his chest, an icy finger sliding down to his gut.

It took him a while, but he calmed down. He always did.

He sat back and rubbed his face, then reached a trembling hand to adjust the rear view mirror to see what shape he was in. He froze. There was someone in the back seat-

He quickly turned to look but there was nobody there.

He shook his head. How could that be-? He could swear that for a brief, mad moment he had caught a glimpse of someone else's eyes. He looked again into the rear view mirror and shivered when he realized that those were his own eyes.

Dead eyes. He peered at himself, fascinated, as if he was looking at someone else. He was, in a sense. Those were Melvin Martin's eyes.

"I've seen that look before" he had told Catherine, without adding that it was himself he was talking about. Well, up until this moment he hadn't known that either. He truly hadn't made the connection. And after all, he'd never tell her something like, "I looked like that when I was a kid and felt hopeless about life, Catherine. That kid wants to die."

Grissom closed his eyes.

He remembered now, the feeling of emptiness. He couldn't explain what it was exactly, but it was overwhelming sometimes. Painful. He had tried to numb that pain with an overdose once. In College he had numbed it with drugs and booze. And sex, too. Self destructive solutions, all of them. He'd been able to control it all these years, just as Gerard had promised, because his job was important, and he had learned to take what life offered him and turn it into something positive. And if he hadn't met Sara, he'd still be doing his job because up until then he'd resigned himself to live alone and not expect love from anyone.

Yes, love. When he met Sara, he realized that he was missing and he dared to hope. He thought he might be able to love her…

He couldn't. But admitting that he couldn't hadn't helped much, as those damn songs had said so clearly. He'd never find another woman like her. Nobody would ever love him anymore. He'd never be over her…

He took a deep breath and clenched his fists, forcing himself to stop those thoughts. He had to go on. He had an obligation, a duty to perform, didn't he? He couldn't stay here and wallow in self pity! All he needed was a reason- a job, an investigation, something to do. He had to leave.

He'd call Chicago Travel and book another flight. He took his cell phone out of his bagand when he noticed that there was an incoming call, he automatically took it.

"Grissom"

"Grissom! Thank God!-"

It was Sara. The last person he wanted to talk to.

"Sara- I can't talk right now-"

"Please, hold on! I've been trying to contact you! Where are you?"

"Flying to Chicago" he lied easily

She was silent for a moment.

"Grissom?" she hesitated, "You missed your flight"

Grissom cautiously held the phone closer to his ear.

"Grissom? Are you there? I redialed your last call and the lady from Chicago Travel told me that you missed the flight"

"You redialed-"

"I…I'm in your house…

Grissom froze.

"You broke into my place?"

"I did not!" Sara protested, scared at the coldness in his voice, "You didn't lock the door, and Professor Cole said that you might need -"

Damn his friend for dragging other people into his private life!

"Sara? Get out of my house."

"I will. I will, I promise, just tell me if you need-"

"I don't need you" he interrupted coldly. 'You're back with him' he wanted to scream, but instead he just hung up.

He stared at the darkness outside until he was calm enough to call Chicago Travel. While he was on hold, he looked at Sara's envelope, lying on top of the clothes in his bag. He wondered what she was doing right now. Maybe driving away from his house, saddened –or better yet, angered- by his behavior.

Or maybe she was still in his house, looking at the empty rooms and the pathetic boxes that he kept the way other people keep friends close. Maybe she was shaking her head, wondering what she had ever seen in him; maybe she was thanking God for letting her be with a normal guy instead of the bug freak-

Ah, his school nickname. He rolled his eyes. He was feeling so sorry for himself that he was dragging each and every painful moment, wasn't he?

'Well, why don't you add another one?' he thought. 'Read her note'

He took the envelope and let the contents fall on the passenger seat. A picture in its own plastic picture holder and her note.

He looked at the picture first. He and Sara looked as if they were blowing a kiss to the photographer, which had been Greg's idea all along. They had been carefully examining a mysterious stain on a sheet, that night, when Greg entered the room screaming "SAY HUMUS!", and they both had frowned and lifted their heads saying 'Humus'? And bam! Greg had taken the picture.

They hadn't slept in twenty four hours and looked it; they had been cranky and impatient with each other... But how they had laughed later, as they plotted their revenge against Greg!

Grissom looked at it for a long time. Then he took the note and immediately recognized her flowing handwriting.

_"Dear Grissom:_

_I hope you are enjoying your trip. Are you flying, right now? Or are you fishing? Or are you about to dive into the ocean? I hope so, because I know how much you love the sea. Lucky you._

_Wherever you are, please know that we are missing you._

_Don't laugh, but there are so many things I'd like to tell you, I thought a song might do the job better than me. On the other hand, laugh, please. You haven't, lately._

_Things changed for us lately for different reasons but I'd like to think that our friendship will survive. We might meet again. We might talk too. No matter what, I'll always be glad that we've had these years to know each other. Please know that I'll never regret anything that has happened in my life since I met you._

_Love,_

_Sara. _

_When you're down and troubled   
And you need some loving care   
And nothing, nothing is going right   
Close your eyes and think of me   
And soon I will be there   
To brighten up even your darkest night_

_ You just call out my name   
And you know wherever I am   
I'll come running to see you again   
Winter, spring, summer or fall   
All you have to do is call   
And I'll be there   
You've got a friend_

And at the bottom of the page she had added with a different pen- clearly as a last minute impulse.

"Please, come back"

Grissom reverently placed the note on the dashboard and tried to read it again, even though it was difficult now that his eyes were filling with tears. He tried to hold them back but he was just too exhausted. He couldn't keep his defenses up anymore. He crossed his arms trying to hold himself together before surrendering...

And for the first time in over 35 years, Gil Grissom cried.

TBC

(I promise you, there'll be a happy ending)


	7. Love Songs

Sorry it's taken so long, but I've been working on this during my lunch hour.

I saw my story is in a Favorite Stories list! Wow! That's flattering!

The Songs:

'I want to love what love is', and 'I've been searching for a girl like you' by Foreigner

'I can't fight this feeling anymore,' REO Speedwagon

LOVE SONGS

Sara left Grissom's house, angry and confused, and drove away as fast as she could. By the time she arrived at the CSI lab parking lot, she had calmed down enough to call Professor Cole and tell him that she had talked to Grissom, though she didn't tell him what he had said exactly.

"Sidle, can you keep an eye on him for me? I would have asked you earlier, but you weren't on call-"

"Professor, what is the matter? He isn't sick, is he?"

"He just needs someone to talk to."

"He won't talk to me" She replied bitterly.

"Just try, Sidle please. For old friendship's sake?"

She smiled a little. Cole had been a favorite teacher.

"I'll try, Professor. I'll call you later."

She remained in her car, wondering how to proceed. In the end, she decided to treat Grissom as a suspect in a case. She would need help, though. She called Brass. He would be discreet.

MIDNIGHT

An hour later Sara left the airport convinced that Grissom had not made another reservation. He had never even been at the airport at all. She called Brass, who could only confirm that Grissom had not been involved in any accident.

"He was seen, however. The cop says he was distracted; apparently he was on his way to the airport but made a sudden turn-"

"Did he tell you where?"

Brass told her, asking her to keep him informed. There wasn't much he could do if he wanted to keep it quiet.

Grissom woke up with a start. He was hunched over the steering wheel, and every muscle in his body protested when he tried to move. Even his eyes hurt in fact.

He was heaving, now and then –'like a little kid,' he mused. He carefully sat back and squinted. There were fewer cars parked on the street now, but there were more people passing by. Seedier characters. Grissom looked at his watch and gaped when he realized that two hours had passed since he had lost his flight. What had happened? He touched the steering wheel, noticing that it was wet. He had been crying…

He felt around for his phone and redialed. Ah, now he remembered; he had called Chicago Travel and had been put on hold. Something had happened then, and he had started to cry. By the time the operator took his call, he was sobbing uncontrollably and couldn't answer any of her panicked questions Sir, are you all right? Should I call 911? Sir? I have your number- He had hung up then.

Grissom looked at his own reflection on the side window. He had been sobbing like a baby and he had felt as if something was crumbling inside him. A wall, of course. For the first time in years, he had remembered things he had kept behind that wall in his mind, in his heart. He felt naked now, he looked at himself and recognized feelings that he had kept inside; and he recognized something else, too: regrets and guilt.

He noticed the note on the dashboard. He touched it and closed his eyes, full of remorse.

He should call her and explain… no. Apologize, that's it. He should apologize to her. As soon as his hands stopped shaking, he'd call.

Sara was driving her phone rang. She answered quickly, relief clear in her voice.

"Sidle"

She heard an intake of breath, and nothing else. She shivered, fearing the worst. It was his phone number, but what if it wasn't him calling? She held the phone closer to her ear and realized that the caller was having trouble breathing-

"Grissom! Is that you?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded horribly raspy, as victims of near strangulation do sometimes.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." he frowned, "I'm fine, why?"

"Where are you?"

"Still in Vegas." He admitted. He took a deep breath, "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Sara."

"It's ok, Grissom." She said, trying not to fire up questions "I'm sorry I entered your house like that, but I just- I mean, Professor Cole was so worried, that I-"

"I know," he interrupted, "But you don't have to worry, Sara, I'm fine."

"What are you doing?"

"Driving." He lied. "I'm… on my way to the airport."

"Really? Good. I'll meet you there then"

Grissom closed his eyes.

"I won't have time to talk, Sara"

"That's ok. I'll just wave goodbye."

Trapped! Grissom tried to come up with some excuse but he was too tired to find a believable lie.

"Grissom?" She insisted, and her voice was full of concern now.

He could picture her beautiful face marred by worry. He held the phone against his face, imagining that it was her hand, cool and gentle on his cheek, drying his tears, comforting him. He imagined himself asking her to come to his rescue, knowing how fast she would drive just to help… But then she would ask questions and he would have to answer some of them and he didn't want that. He couldn't reveal himself to her; he would lose her respect if she knew -

"You're not going to the airport, are you?" She said slowly

"Sara, I'll call you back later, all right?"

"No, wait! Wait, Grissom, please. Listen, would you let me see you? Just for a minute? I need to see that you are ok. Please? It's just that… I have this feeling that something is wrong. I want to help you if I can-"

Grissom "Not now, Sara."

"Just for a minute-"

"No!" He made an effort and got himself under control. He spoke quietly, "I'll talk to you on the phone, ok? Are you driving right now?"

"Yes"

"Would you stop somewhere?"

"Why?"

"It's dangerous to drive and talk at the same time"

"All right" She accepted but only because she was in the area where he been seen last. She trusted he wasn't that far away. "I'm stopping, Grissom. Did you stop too?"

"Yes, Sara"

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

"I'm… I've been crying for hours " he blurted. He immediately cursed himself for being so truthful all of a sudden.

"Why?"

"I'm just having a little crisis here. And I ran out of tissues" he added, trying to lighten up their conversation. "I have an old t-shirt here, though" he rubbed his face with it and his next words were muffled by the cloth "I'm afraid my brain is disintegrating through my nose-"

"Eeew, Grissom!" she groaned but couldn't help to smile "Now I'll have this image of your head shrinking!"

"If I keep this up, tomorrow they'll find my body, dried up like a prune" he joked, but she sucked her breath as if she was going to cry and he cringed "Sara, I'm only joking- "

"Really? Tell me where you are, then"

"No… And stop worrying about me, will you?"

"I will if you tell me where you are"

"I'm in my car, in a quiet street. Well, not so quiet; I've seen some shady dealings on the corner-"

"Why don't we drive somewhere quiet?."

He didn't answer for a while.

"Grissom?

Just then there was a song he barely remembered…

_So long, I've been looking too hard, I've been waiting too long  
Sometimes I don't know what I will find, I only know it's a matter of time  
When you love someone, when you love someone  
It feels so right, so warm and true, I need to know if you feel it too  
  
_"I've been thinking-" he mused

"What about?"

"Life. Consequences. Fear." He shuddered "Music, too. These last two days I've been starring in Gil Grissom, the Musical."

"What?"

"You won't believe this, but almost every song I heard seemed to say something about my life."

"Well… "

_I've been waiting for a girl like you to come into my life  
I've been waiting for a girl like you, your loving will survive  
I've been waiting for someone new to make me feel alive  
Yeah, waiting for a girl like you to come into my life  
I've been waiting, waiting for you, ooh, I've been waiting  
(I've been waiting for a girl like you, I've been waiting)  
Won't you come into my life?_

Grissom shook his head, remembering the day he met Sara.

"My father was a musician, did I ever tell you that?"

"No." she was amazed "You've never mentioned him before"

"He worked in an office, but played the piano too. Or he still is, I don't know."

"How long haven't you known?"

"Years. Almost all my life." 'Maybe he's haunting me' he thought and abruptly turned off the radio.

"How was he?"

Grissom didn't say anything. He looked at the street, the cars, the hookers walking by… He looked at her note on the dashboard and he felt sad again.

"Grissom?"

"What you said in your note. Is that true? You don't regret anything?"

"Nothing." then she added "Well, except for the hard time I gave you over that promotion."

"Are you sure, Sara?" he challenged "I haven't been a good friend to you, or haven't you noticed? Did you know that I was planning to leave for good?"

"Why?"

"I wanted to start over. I thought taking another job would solve things"

"Well-"

"Sara," he interrupted "I was running away, all right? I knew I should have at least notified the lab, but I didn't care."

"And what made you miss your flight?"

"I don't know. Something is holding me back," He said bitterly "It's annoying because I can't leave but I can't stay here either! I hate feeling like this, so insecure and needful! All my life, I've been able to leave! " he mused "I've always left behind anything I didn't want to deal with; I've always turned my back on people who tried to get close. That's who I am, and suddenly it seems I don't want to be that person. But I don't know who else to be!"

"You don't have to be anybody else," She said quietly, "I think you're being too hard on yourself. You feel uncomfortable after that fight you had, but you shouldn't, you know. People here think it's very brave what you did."

Grissom laughed bitterly

"Oh, Sara, you just don't know. " he took a deep breath and weighed his next words. He felt the need to tell her everything, even knowing that her reaction could be to simply hang up. Well, he deserved that, didn't he? He'd tell her. It was easier on the phone after all. "I wasn't brave at all, Sara. I was a coward. I did something terrible."

"Grissom, we all make mistakes, we're only human-"

"You don't understand… I could have saved him."

"Who?"

"Martin! I had a chance and I didn't do anything! I talked to him and…"

(Flashback)

Grissom had found him at the Gym; Melvin Martin was watching a group of kids play basketball. He was sitting alone, scowling. However, Grissom noticed that the kid smiled brightly whenever someone waved at him. As soon as the person who had waved turned, though, the kid got serious again. When he saw Grissom, he nodded warily.

"You have more questions about Matt?"

"No, Melvin, the case is officially closed" Grissom sat "I came by to see how you're doing"

"I'm doing ok."

They both watched the game for a moment.

"You are not playing?"

"I suck at ball games." he smiled and waved at someone. He chuckled "They asked me to come just because they feel bad about giving me a hard time in the past."

"Did they give your friend Tim a hard time, too?"

"Sometimes. Matt used to hold them back, though"

That was news to Grissom. Matt was the older kid who had killed Tim. Melvin looked at Grissom.

"Everybody thinks that Matt was a bad person, but he wasn't. He was our friend. He used to say that kids should stick together"

"Do you know what made him change his mind?"

"He didn't change his mind"

"But he killed your best friend"

"I don't want to talk about it" he said, looking directly at Grissom and the older man shivered when he saw that look on the kid's eyes.

"I'd like to understand Matt" Grissom explained "He protected you, yet he shot your best friend. Why did he do that? Melvin?"

"I hate that damn name" he muttered angrily "Do you know how many Melvins there are at School? Only lucky me"

"Well…" Grissom smiled "You can always ask people to call you by your last name."

Melvin smiled tentatively, then he shrugged.

"Nah, why bother. That's what Matt said. Why bother, at all?"

"What else did he say?"

"He said it wasn't worthwhile, to go through life-" Melvin stopped abruptly. He turned to Grissom, and lowered his voice, "You know, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"That day, when I said that I didn't know what had happened, you didn't believe me"

"I did believe you, but I thought you were holding something back."

"It was a pact"

"A pact?"

"Matt was supposed to take the three of us. But at the last minute he couldn't shoot me. He said I was too young."

"It was a suicide pact?"

"I had the notes in my pocket." He said matter-of-factly, "Matt planned it for a couple of months. He had planned it for years, really, but didn't have a gun, so-"

Not a very nice friend, thought Grissom.

"He must have realized that it would be wrong to take your life"

"But don't you see? I didn't want it! I thought it would be over! And now I have to come to school and eat and do things, and it was supposed to be over!"

"Martin, I think you should talk about this-"

"That's what I'm doing!"

"What I mean is that you should talk to someone who is qualified. Would you do that?"

"Why can't I talk to you?" he said, his eyes quietly pleading. "You understand what I'm saying. You don't get all weird out by it."

"I'm not qualified," he said patiently

"You mean, you don't want to talk to me" the kid said, his disappointment very clear. He turned his attention back to the game

"Martin, I can find-"

"Someone qualified, right?" he snorted, "I only have to smile and say that I'm ok, Mr. Grissom" he smiled brightly "That's all they want to hear."

Grissom was going to say something, but the kid's next words cut him off.

"If you don't leave right now, I'll scream and tell everyone you're molesting me"

Grissom left and later contacted the kid's mother and the School therapist, but true to his word, Melvin fooled everyone.

End flashback

They remained in silence for a moment.

"Grissom, you did the right thing. You weren't qualified-"

"He only needed a little push, a little indifference to do it. He got it from me"

"You couldn't know-"

"I did know." He interrupted "Deep down I knew he'd do it. I tried to convince myself that others would help him but the fact is the only person he tried to trust in was me. But I so was scared of him! He was… like me. I didn't want to face that. I wanted to keep that time buried and forgotten. I do that when I can't deal with something, you know. I just ignore it, repress it, hoping it will go away. I didn't think I was hurting anyone until this boy died. You see, Sara? I didn't want to talk to this kid, not because I wasn't qualified, but because to help him I would have had to take a hard look at myself. And I didn't want to…" he held back a sob "I couldn't. I've kept that part of me buried and that's how it should remain. But he was just a kid. I didn't want to hit his father as much as I wanted that guy to pound on me-"

"Grissom, you're assuming all the guilt there!" Sara protested, and as quietly as she could, started her car. "Please, tell me where you are."

"No"

"You don't have to bear this alone." She pleaded "Tell me where you are and I'll be there in a minute."

"Can't." he replied "Not now."

"All right. I'll find you any way"

"Sara-"

"I'm driving," she interrupted "As fast as I can, Grissom. I have only one hand on the steering wheel-"

"Sara, I want you to stop-"

"If you-" Suddenly a chorus of horns and brakes drowned her answer

"Sara!" he was alarmed "What was that?"

"I drove through a red light, that's what!" she replied defiantly

"Damn it Sara, stop!"

"Not until I find you!"

"I'll hang up-"

"No, you won't! " she said firmly "You need me! You know you do, Grissom! And I need you, too"

Grissom pressed his forehead against the side window.

Yes, he needed her. He told her where he was.

Sara was closer than she had thought. She parked behind his car and cautiously looked around. For Vegas, it was a quiet street, but she wasn't taking any chances. She paused before leaving her car. Was she really up to this? She took a deep breath. She remembered Grissom's own words and realized she was the only person Grissom was trusting right now. She wouldn't fail him. She walked purposefully to his car.

She tapped on the passenger window. She saw him place his phone on the dashboard, and open the door without looking at her.

Grissom was aware of her movements, though. She was putting something on the dashboard. A box of tissues. He smiled to himself. Then he realized she was handing him something. A Styrofoam cup with the lid on.

"It's tea. With one sugar, as you like it"

He took the cup, grateful that she wasn't fussing over him. He sipped the tea, noticing that she had put some ice in it so he wouldn't scald his tongue. Her thoughtfulness moved him and he took a big gulp to stop himself from breaking down.

"Can I turn on the light?"

"No, please. My eyes hurt a little" 'and I don't want you to look at me,' he could have added but didn't. He would be careful. In his present state, he felt like telling her everything he had discovered about himself. He had told her too much already.

"You left this at your place" she said, handing him the group picture. Grissom looked at it and placed it next to her note and their picture.

"Thank you" he said, quietly drinking his tea, knowing that as soon as he finished it, he'd have to talk. To stall for time, he reached for the radio but suddenly he felt it was too risky. She noticed though, and turned it on herself. She chuckled.

"Let's hear 'Grissom and Sara, the Musical'" she teased.

_In my life there's been heartache and pain  
I don't know if I can face it again  
Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life  
I want to know what love is, I want you to show me  
I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me_

She gaped and turned to him, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry about all this." He said suddenly, without meeting her eye "I'm sorry Gary got you involved"

"It's ok"

"It's not ok." He shook his head remorsefully. "You should be out on a date, instead of worrying about your boss"

"Me on a date? I'd rather keep you company" Sara patted his arm lightly "I'm glad you called me"

"Thank you" he said, and looked away. Grissom finished the tea and put the cup next to her note, knowing very well that he wouldn't get rid of that cup. He'd put it the box he had labeled S.S. to remind himself of this moment whenever he felt lonely.

He crossed his arms, feeling cold, even though it wasn't really chilly. 'We're fire and ice' the song had said, and it was true. Sara rarely wore sweaters while he always needed long sleeves. 'Fire and Ice, the dream won't come true…" It was painful.

After a moment of silence, Sara turned to him.

"Can we talk?"

"Oh, Sara…" he shrugged "I'm feeling better now. I'm sorry I spooked you."

"And you're going to pretend nothing happened" she muttered, frankly disappointed.

_I want to know what love is, I want you to show me  
I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me  
I'm gonna take a little time, a little time to look around me  
I've got nowhere left to hide, it looks like love has finally found me_

Grissom closed his eyes. He tried not to pay attention to the song and instead tried for a little humor.

"You know what I lack, Sara? A sense of proportion. I should have little crisis every year, instead of lumping them all together and freaking you out"

"And you should stop trying to carry all the troubles in the world on your shoulders" she replied, and reached out to touch his arm. She gently tried to make him uncross his arms, but he wouldn't. She kept her hand on his arm then, using it as leverage to get closer. She practically invaded his personal space. She placed a hand on his cheek and gently turned his face to her. His eyes were bloodshot. He was clearly trying to look away, but she had to try to comfort him. She leant forward and brushed soft kisses on his swollen eyes.

He gasped at the cool touch of her lips, a healing caress.

He didn't move. He kept his arms crossed around himself, but he let her take him into her arms, a hand gently cradling his head until it rested on her shoulder. He found himself leaning against her; she felt soft and strong at the same time; she gave him a sense of security. He felt his body relax in her arms.

"Talk to me, Grissom" she whispered in his ear. She felt him shake his head no. "Trust me" she insisted, softly kneading the tension away from him tense muscles. They had never hugged before and she was discovering the weight and feel of his body in her arms. She liked it. She tilted her head a little and kissed his curls.

He shuddered. He felt vulnerable, horribly so, but he also felt this was a dream come true. Sara was holding him, for God's sake! If he only moved a little, he might kiss her neck. If he opened his mouth a little, he might be able to taste her skin and, if he only dared to move, he might know -finally- how she fitted in his arms.

He felt the need to speak; words crowded his mind, and he was barely able to keep them away. He wanted to confess all his sins and open his heart to her. He wanted to love her, he realized, and that thought pained him. She was this close but in his mind she was far away, in Hank's arms.

"You don't have to leave if you don't want to." She whispered in his ear "And you don't have to be somebody else just to start over. I don't know who you were before I met you, but the Grissom I know is unique. You look at the world with wonder in your eyes. You love magic. You love to learn. I'd never met anybody like you. And until I met you, I didn't feel I could fit in the world. You taught me to like myself. You've given Warrick, Greg, and me a place in the world. We wouldn't fit anywhere else but here, with you. We all look up to you. You are our hero and we love you. And you take care of us, Grissom, but who takes care of you?"

He pulled back and looked at her. They gazed at each other and she couldn't understand why he looked so sad, now that they had finally broken down one barrier. She smiled but he didn't.

"I'm not that great a person, Sara"

"I'm not saying you are perfect, Grissom" she said humorously "You've pissed me off plenty of times"

"I'm sorry"

"We're only human, Grissom. I'm sure I've pissed you off plenty of times, but you've never said anything"

He shyly leant his forehead on her shoulder again. He liked to lean on her. Ah, that reminded him of a song he had loved as a teenager…

Lean on me when you're not strong and I'll be your friend…

And then, as if on cue, a new song came:

_I can't fight this feeling any longer  
And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow  
What started out as friendship has grown stronger  
I only wish I had the strength to let it show_

_I tell myself that I can't hold out forever  
I say there is no reason for my fear  
Cause I feel so secure when we're together  
You give my life direction, you make everything so clear  
And even as I wander I'm keeping you sight  
You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night  
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might  
My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you  
I been running around in circles in my mind  
And it always seems that I'm following you, girl_

Sara frankly gaped and wondered if Grissom was right about songs and musicals. Grissom pulled back and looked at her.

"I'm scared" he blurted.

"Of this?" she asked, placing her hand on his cheek.

He resisted the need to lean into her touch. He heard his own words, amazed that he could be this truthful.

"I'm afraid that you'll get to know me. And then you'll turn your back and leave."

"Oh, Grissom, " she said as if his words hurt her "I wouldn't." she said firmly "Not unless you ask me. Are you asking me to turn my back and leave you?"

His wonderfully expressive eyes were telling her 'no' already, but the words she wanted to hear weren't coming.

"Grissom?"

He took a deep breath and then he shook his head.

"No. No, no, don't leave." He exhaled, leaning forward until his forehead touched hers. "Never, Sara" He said desperately "Never, never leave me" and he hugged her, impulsively, needing her warmth and tenderness. He stiffened a little when he realized his hands were on her back and for a brief moment he didn't really know what to do, until he remembered how much he had wanted to feel her body close to his, and how long he had waited for a chance to put his hands around her waist.

He remembered too, how much he wanted to kiss her. He'd need courage to do that, but now that they were so close, he tilted his head and let his mouth caress her skin, discovering the different textures as he slowly explored her with his lips. He loved the marble coolness of her neck and she tilted her head back to help his explorations. Suddenly the velvety softness of her cheek claimed his attention and he caressed it for a long time, before he slid his lips over her mouth. He could taste the lip gloss, almost gone by now, but familiar, as familiar as everything about her. Familiar and until now, forbidden. Apple lip gloss.

Sara sighed as his lips touched hers, not kissing, just touching, soft as feathers. She had never been cherished like this. Grissom's gentleness was seducing her. She timidly darted the tip of her tongue to touch his lips.

Grissom opened his eyes and looked at her. She had a tentative smile; she was wondering if he was prepared for this, when suddenly he leant to brush his lips against her mouth again. And gently, slowly, he drew her tongue into his mouth. And the world as they knew it changed.

TBC

Let me know if you liked it. If you didn't, please be gentle!


	8. Holding on to yesterday

Spoilers: The Accused is entitled.

OLD SONGS

The song: Holding on to yesterday, by Ambrosia

Grissom sighed as they kissed, loving the way she was caressing him with her soft tongue. Her hands were all over him, too; he could barely think except to realize that he wasn't cold anymore, and that a strange song was reaching his ears. He'd heard it before, but it felt different somehow… Her moans. God, she was moaning, yes, and he was the one eliciting those sounds from her. He loved that music, he thought, softly pressing her against the side door. He was pulling up her shirt when suddenly someone yelled-

"HEY, MAN, GET YOURSELF A ROOM!" and someone kicked the car.

The yell and the noise brought a harsh reality to Grissom and Sara. They opened their eyes in a panic and looked at each other for a split second before quickly pulling apart. Outside, a guy was laughing wildly and making rude gestures. They quickly sat up, amazed and a little embarrassed.

They had truly forgotten where they were. Up until that moment, Grissom's main concern had been whether he'd be able to unhook her bra, while Sara had been happily unconcerned about having unprotected sex in a public place. It was scary.

When the guy finally walked away, Grissom cleared his throat.

"We… we should probably…"

"Yeah. Yes. I…" Sara sat up and smoothed her shirt down. "I'll go back to my car"

"Sara-"

"Are you hungry?" she asked, smiling nervously "There's a nice place nearby; we could go there if you want…"

"Yeah, whatever you say"

She gave him the address and fled to her car.

Grissom took a deep breath and grabbed the steering wheel to steady his shaking hands. He could not believe they had gone this far. He was deliriously happy.

'But she's back with that guy,' a little voice reminded him, squashing all his happy thoughts, 'don't put much faith in this.'

2:00 in the morning

Well I keep holdin' on to yesterday  
I keep holdin' on enough to say  
That I'm wrong  
I keep thinkin' that I'm lonely  
But it's only missing you inside  
Days that we were once together  
Seems they'll never come alive…  
If I'd only known I'd need you  
Then I'd keep you like before

Well I keep holdin' on to yesterday…  
  
Grissom shook his head and turned off the radio.

The 'Veggie Haven' was almost empty; apparently not many people craved for health food at night. Sara waited as Grissom reluctantly left the safety of his car and followed her. They entered the place together, but before she could take a good look at him, Grissom excused himself. The men's room would shelter him for a while.

."I'll order," she called out

"No tofu, Sara" he warned, barely turning

"But Grissom, it's nutritious-"

"Sara, I mean it" he insisted, not realizing that she was only joking.

He entered the men's room and closed the door.

He inspected himself under the harsh light. Two days of fasting had left hollows under his bloodshot eyes. 'You look great' he muttered sarcastically, and splashed cold water on his face, over and over.

He still looked sickly and he didn't really feel much better. Grissom sighed.

He'd have to be careful. He owed Sara an explanation but he couldn't tell her everything he had discovered while he cried his eyes out. He'd have to thread carefully and let her know only a few bits and pieces. The rest, he would forget. As always.

Sara had taken a booth at the back of the restaurant, a relatively quiet spot. She was nervously shredding a paper towel, wondering what to say when he came. She knew he would never spill his guts to her, but after tonight, after that kiss, something definite had to happen.

She smiled brightly when she saw him approach the table. He looked as if he had worked several shifts without a break, and moved as if he was hurting everywhere, but he smiled back as he sat.

She had applied a new coat of lip-gloss on her lips, he noticed. Apple again; the one he had always wanted to kiss off of her. How many times had he sent her to work solo just because she was wearing it and the scent was driving him crazy?

He noticed that her lips were moving and he read what she was saying. "How-are-you-feeling"

He looked up.

"I'm ok." He said quickly. "Thank you"

"Are you hungry? I ordered you a vegetarian burger" She smiled when she saw the fleeting expression on his face. "You'll like it. I promise"

They looked at each other for a moment, and both reddened a little. Their moment of passion was still in their minds. Sara turned her gaze away.

Grissom looked around too, noticing the plastic foliage and the lush aquarium on the other side of the café. It was a nice place; he could imagine Sara seeking refuge here after a hard night's work.

He looked at her and she met his gaze again.

"I gave you quite a fright tonight, huh?" he said sheepishly.

"Yes, you did." She nodded.

"I'm so sorry, Sara" He said, "Really"

"Me, too. " she nodded and then added quickly "I mean, I'm sorry I didn't realize you were hurting. "

"Oh, Sara, you couldn't know-"

"I thought…" she lowered her eyes "I thought you were going to kill yourself"

Grissom winced.

"I was not- Oh, Sara, I wouldn't!" he was indignant "Never, Ok? I'd never do it. How could you think-"

"…You sounded as if you were giving up. You said you were like Melvin Martin"

"Did I?" he was amazed that he'd gone that far. He shrugged, trying to lessen the impact of his words, "I was like him" he admitted slowly, "When I was a kid, I mean. I tried to… you know. It was a long time ago." He said dismissively.

"Why did you do it?" she frowned. "It's such a desperate act, Grissom."

"Yeah, it is." He nodded, thoughtfully. "It's an act of resignation. It's… it's as if a door closed up in your face, and you don't find any other way out… Or you don't have the energy to find another way out. No matter what anybody tells you, the door is closed and you resign yourself to that fact…" he shrugged "Some people give up more easily than others"

"But why did you do it?"

"Sara, it doesn't matter anymore, really. It's in the past now."

"Is it?" she asked, her eyes filling with tears. "Right now, you don't feel as if a door is closing up on you?"

He groaned.

"Oh, Sara, don't worry about me, please? I was different then, I was just a kid." He wished he could find the right words to put her fears to rest. The truth was that no matter how desperate he became, he'd never kill himself; the idea of being torn apart in an autopsy horrified him. But of course, he couldn't tell her that. He sighed, "Look, I had a couple of bad days, ok? I'm all right now." He patted her hand. "Really, I am."

She captured his fingers

"Let's talk, then" she said seriously

He hesitated, looking as she entwined her fingers with his "Later, ok?"

Meaning, not now, not ever, as he very well knew.

"Please, Grissom. Now?" She insisted

"Sara," He took a deep breath "I know you mean well, but I just can't … Look. It's hard. It's… my life. My secrets are all I have-"

"You have me, too" she offered.

"Sure," he retorted calmly "Until you need to 'go to the movies' with what's-his-name again"

Sara gaped. And Grissom instantly regretted the words and the sarcasm.

"Sara" he started, but she interrupted him.

"He was friendly with me. As friendly as you were when we met years ago." She said as she released his hand. She angrily added, "What was I supposed to do, pine for you after you tossed me aside like you did?" She waited for an answer but he didn't give her any "I'll go get our orders" she muttered and left the table.

Grissom closed his eyes, cursing himself.

"That was unfair, you ungrateful son of a bitch" he muttered. After all, he had practically told her to go ahead and date that guy, hadn't he? And Grissom would never admit it to her, but at the time he had been relieved that she had found someone. That her happiness didn't rest in his hands anymore. Grissom regretted all this, but even today he couldn't see what else he could have done. After all, Sara HAD been happy with this guy, hadn't she? She would still be with Hank if he hadn't cheated on her. She still WAS with him, apparently.

'But she cares about you, too' he mused. 'She cared enough to look for you. Even if she's with that guy, she cares…'

Sara avoided looking at him as she placed a tray on the table. She handed him a plate and took another for herself.

"Sara-"

"You're sorry, I know. " she interrupted tiredly, handing him a glass of juice "Just eat, all right?"

She was pissed. Ok. He decided to give her a little time before saying anything else. Meanwhile, he'd eat a little if only to please her.

He tried a bite of his burger and was almost dizzy with pleasure as the flavors exploded in his mouth. He couldn't help to moan a little as he chew that delicious morsel; suddenly, he was so hungry he practically devoured everything in his plate, and went to the counter.

He returned with a second burger and a couple of containers of fresh fruit. He placed one container on her side and turned all his attention to his own meal.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, about two days", he said unconcernedly "Hey, these are really good," he said, waving at the potato wedges on his plate

"Two days? What happened?"

"Nothing" he said out of habit. He looked up and explained, "I had a migraine and I couldn't keep anything down."

He left it at that and turned his attention back to his meal, but after a moment, he realized that she had stopped eating.

"Did I hurt you by dating Hank?" she quietly asked, looking at him.

"I resented you." He admitted, "I couldn't believe you weren't content with what we had."

"I was content" She replied. She remembered those first months working here, and how much she had enjoyed learning from him. "Until one day you told me that I needed a diversion. Remember how you made it very clear that it couldn't be you? You also made it clear that I couldn't be your diversion because your maggots were enough." She looked at him closely "I looked for a diversion, Grissom. He was nice and he offered me friendship. And later… I thought it would be nice to have a boyfriend."

"And what was it like?"

"Oh. It was ok, mostly" She said dismissively, "I had to wear weird clothes and weirder shoes, and be nice all the time." Then she added, thoughtfully "I saw you once"

"Me?"

"At a bookstore. I was meeting Hank and he was late, so I entered a bookstore to pass the time. And there you were, in the Mystery Classics aisle." She snorted, "I ran out of there"

"Why?"

"I was embarrassed. I was wearing some awful shoes and I could barely walk, and I didn't want you to see me like that."

"But I did" he said softly "You were wearing a flowered skirt, and heels, right?"

"Oh, God" she cringed "You probably laughed when you saw me limping"

"No. You looked very lovely," he said gently "Really, Sara."

She rolled her eyes, but she seemed pleased.

He frowned.

"I thought you were going to eat at that Italian restaurant."

"We were, but he was late. He didn't have much time, so we just went to a hotel" He winced and she reddened. She turned her attention to her meal, embarrassed by her pathetic memories. Grissom watched for a moment.

"I thought you would be better off with him" he said abruptly.

She looked up, her spoon frozen in mid air.

"I thought…" Grissom hesitated "I thought he'd be able to give you all the things that I could not."

"What things?" she was puzzled

"You know… a normal life. A life" he said pointedly "Marriage, kids…a home…"

Sara put the spoon down.

"I thought I could share you," he added and she frowned.

"Share me?"

"Yeah. I thought I could share you with that guy. I decided that working with you would be enough; that whatever you did with him didn't matter because I didn't want that part of you anyway..."

Sara flushed again and looked away.

"…I decided to love your mind while he loved your body, because I didn't- I thought I didn't care that you were sleeping with him." Grissom said, ruefully. "But I did, Sara, a lot. I just didn't admit it to myself until yesterday."

Sara looked at Grissom as if for the first time tonight "You cared?"

Grissom barely nodded. "I was jealous," he confessed.

"You… you…" she stammered, "You should have told me! You should have called me as soon as you found out!"

"I couldn't." he said matter-of-factly "You loved him, didn't you? And I saw you running to him the other night"

"…Running?" she was puzzled, but then she remembered, "Oh. Yes, we talked. He wanted to apologize. He told me he was sorry about everything, and…" she looked at him, hesitating for a moment. Then she lowered her voice, "He told me that every time we had sex I called out your name. Can you believe that? I was cheating on him too! How pathetic can a relationship get?"

Grissom gaped at her.

"You should have called me," she repeated. "I would have run to you, Grissom"

"Sara, the truth is …" he looked at her, hesitating between hope and fear. Fear won. "It doesn't matter whether I care or not, Sara; or whether I love you or not because I can't… I can't change who I am, anyway. In the long run, you'd be better off with anybody but me. I don't know anything about relationships and I've never been a boyfriend, and you should have one. A real one" he added pointedly "As for me… I've never wanted kids, and I've never believed in marriage, and those are the things that make up a normal life. And I still think you deserve one."

Sara's eyes filled with tears.

"Did you ever ask me what I want, Grissom?" she asked bitterly "Did you ever ask me what I wanted from you? Damn it, did you ever ask me if I LOVED you?"

He looked at her knowing full well that she'd say yes to the last question.

He couldn't take this anymore. Her hopes were unfounded, why couldn't she see that?

"I know you love me." He calmly acknowledged "And maybe I love you, too. But it doesn't matter, because I have nothing to give you. Nothing. That's the truth about me." He opened his arms, "This is me, Sara. I keep feelings at bay. I hold them back and bury them until they fester and hurt other people. Do you think I don't know what others expect from me? I do know it and I don't care! I always knew what you wanted from me but I pretended I didn't have a clue. I was jealous of that guy but I kept hoping he'd marry you so I didn't have to deal with your feelings! And you know what? I like not having anybody's happiness in my hands! I like my solitude and I like my life, except when you're around to remind me that I've failed you!"

Sara looked at him, her tears flowing now. Grissom closed his eyes, wishing he hadn't hurt her like this...

He suddenly felt as if a door were closing... And he was closing it himself. He saw his future very clearly, then: Not death, but a long, long life lived in solitude… Sara's voice drew him back to reality.

"That's not you" Sara whispered defiantly, "That's who you become when the pain is unbearable. The real you were crying tonight. He was crying for you and me, and for a life that he doesn't know how to enjoy anymore. For a little kid he couldn't save."

Grissom looked away.

"Do you want to know what I wanted from you?" she challenged, "I wanted to be your best friend. I wanted to hold you in my arms. Share my ideas with you. Learn from you and teach you. Buy you things; a vegetarian burger, a book, I don't know! I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to love you. Damn it, I loved you! And YOU loved me!"

He looked at her serenely, "And one day you'll want something that I can't give you, or my silences will bother you. And then you'll leave."

"…Or some day you'll be sick of me and my moods." She retorted, "Have you ever listened to yourself, Grissom? Do you realize how much you need love to be 'forever'? Who could promise that? I couldn't, but I've loved you for more than five years. Five years that you've missed." She reached for his hand and fiercely held it "Do you know what I think, Grissom? I think that all those things that you believe I want: Kids, marriage, and a home? …Those are the things YOU always wanted and never allowed yourself to have!"

Grissom gasped at a sudden pain in his chest.

"Sara…" he whispered.

He could not believe this.

It was so simple.

She had found the truth. It was so simple but it had escaped his analytical mind. He couldn't believe that someone so young could understand him so well.

"I don't know who hurt you." She said quietly "And I don't know who made you think that you didn't deserve to be loved. But they are wrong."

Grissom closed his eyes then. He saw the door in his mind.

'Don't let it close,' he begged himself. 'Give yourself a chance… Give her a chance.'

There were dark corners in his mind that he didn't dare examine right now, but others, he could see under a new light. He understood the little fears that had colored his life and had made him what he was today. He didn't have to change anything if he didn't want to.

The only change that mattered was this: He would open his heart to her; he would conquer that particular fear…

It took him a while, but when he looked at her again there was tenderness in his eyes that she hadn't seen since the first days of their friendship.

"Thank you" he whispered, his lips trembling. "Thank you, Sara."

"You're welcome" she smiled

He took a deep breath

"I'd like to hold you in my arms" he said a bit hoarsely "I'll get up and go to you, but… can I hold on to your hand? For support?"

"Yes" she said firmly, even though she would have gladly run to his seat.

She understood that he needed to do this by himself.

There were only two steps and they held each other's hand the whole time, but it felt as if he was coming from far away… And in a way, he was.

He carefully sat beside her and slid his arms around her. He whispered in her ear.

"I need you"

TBC

I haven't had time to read the first chapters of this story, so if you think there are inconsistencies, please let me know!


	9. Insatiable

I'll try to finish this as soon as I get back from my vacation!  

4:00 am

They were still at the restaurant, sitting close together and talking in hushed tones.  

"All my life I've held back one feeling after another…" he was saying, "It seemed to make my life easier." After a pause he shook his head, "I can't believe I got away with it for so long… I guess I  became an expert at controlling my feelings." he sighed. "I was doing fine until I met him…" he glanced at her,  "Well, maybe not so fine." He admitted apologetically, "But I was doing my job, which was the only thing that mattered." 

"Grissom… Why is your job so important? You've let it become the center of your life"

He sighed.

"Oh, Sara, there are so many reasons…" he reached for her hand and held it, "I think my job always gave me a chance to get away from myself.  Even when I was a kid I always kept myself busy. Books, insects…  You know, the only time I ever got distracted from study was  when I was in College.  Ironic, huh? For some reason I couldn't concentrate on my studies; I kept thinking and thinking of anything but my courses.  I couldn't even sleep. I think for the first time in my life I really became aware of how lonely I was and I didn't like it. Then I was befriended by some people, who… well, let's say they didn't have much interest in their studies either.  I got seduced by them.  We were very promiscuous." He said and pretended not to notice her gasp of surprise. "To me it was like the answer to a prayer. I sucked at relationships, so one-night stands were great: I had someone by my side for a while,  I got to sleep a little, and I got to forget that I was alone.  I was available and  slept with anyone –just anyone, Sara."  he sighed at the memories. 

"It's hard to imagine you doing that."

"I was a mess, going from bed to bed, trying to feel some human warmth.  In reality I was only dehumanizing myself, you know?  We drank and took drugs, we got in trouble.  Some teachers tried to help me; poor Gary missed classes because he was always rescuing me." He seemed lost in thought for a while and Sara patted his hand.

"What made you stop?"

"Oh, Phillip Gerard convinced me give College a chance.  He said that I had to choose between my private life and my profession.  That my profession would give me direction." He looked at her, "That sounded good.  I was sick of my life, after all.  I stopped cold turkey.  No booze, no drugs, no sex; I went back to classes and dedicated all my time to study, and in time I became an investigator.  End of story." He was silent for a moment. "It was the right choice, but I took it to extremes:  I could have had a private life, Sara and didn't.  I guess  it was easier not to.  Less messy…" He sighed, "But now I'm 50 years old and I'm having this crisis and it's all so exhausting." He closed his eyes and let his head rest on her shoulder.  She tilted her head to kiss his cheek.  

"Grissom." She whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"Will you trust me tonight?" she asked softly.

"Yeah." He nodded 

"Will you follow me home?"  she asked and he opened his eyes.

"Sara…" he hesitated, "I… I want to go with you." He nodded slowly, "I'm just not sure you know how screwed up I am"

"Do you feel something for me?"

"Oh, Sara," he turned to her. "I'm crazy about you. Always have been.  I only wish I…"

She shushed him with a tender kiss on the lips.

**

8:00 am

He couldn't sleep.  He had dozed a little, but he couldn't bring himself to lower his defenses long enough…  He still didn't trust her that much.    

He tilted his head to look at her.  Her hair was a mess, but Sara in repose was as pretty as Sara awake. 

He smiled fondly now, remembering the way she had finally collapsed, sweaty and flushed, her face very serious and sexy as she whispered, "You are mine, now".  

He had held her, almost crushing her, grateful to her for bringing out a gentle side of himself.  

"Yes, Sara." He had whispered when his breathing had quieted a little.  Who wouldn't want to belong to her?  It was easy; she was young and beautiful, and she loved him, for God's sake.  

Grissom looked up at the ceiling, remembering everything that had happened in the last hours. He cringed when he thought of their phone conversation and the way he had made her cry.  

But he had tried to make amendments later when she took him to bed.  Judging by her reaction, he had succeeded.  It made him proud.  After all, he couldn't remember even being in love with the person he had sex with, not before Sara. He'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to love someone like this, but he had.   

He just wished he could enjoy this feeling of utter happiness:  They were in each other's arms, they had made love for hours, they were finally together!  He should be shouting with joy.

"My Sara" he whispered, lightly touching the arm that she had flung over his chest "Mine.  My Love".  He said the words but suddenly he felt as if he were only playing a role, only saying what he was supposed to say, but not really believing his own words..  

It was as if he was looking at himself from afar, watching Gil Grissom hold Sara, but not really feeling her body in his arms.

"Stop it" he said aloud.  He cringed and hoped he hadn't disturbed her sleep. Thankfully, she didn't stir. 

He closed his eyes, willing himself to feel her.   There… the weight of her body on him… Her damp hair tickling his neck… Her wetness on his thigh… her breathing, even and reassuring.  

He closed his eyes, relieved.

"I love you, Sara" he whispered, defiantly; he held her tightly and repeated,  "I love you, I love you…" 

He said it like a prayer.

He wanted to battle his demons, conquer all his nightmares… He wanted to shake this vague feeling that he wasn't good enough for her; he wanted to deserve her.  He wanted to shake down the walls that surrounded him.  

She stirred awake.  She moaned a little and blinked.  She smiled and sighed.

"Hey…"

"Hey, yourself" he smiled back

"You ok?" she whispered, stretching her arms.

"Yes."

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, rubbing her cheek against his chest.  

"Great," he lied "You?"

"Like a baby" she smiled.  "Are you hungry? I can make some oatmeal," she offered, and then smiled seductively, "San Francisco style."

"Ah," he smiled "My favorite."  He pulled back a little to see her better.  Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were still half closed with sleep.  

"What?" she teased. 

"You're so lovely" He said wistfully

"And you're so insatiable" She replied, smiling knowingly.

He reddened and was about to apologize when she surprised him by singing,

'That's why darling, it's incredible

That someone who's so insatiable

Found somebody… who's insatiable too…'

(sung to "Unforgettable")

He smiled and leant in for a kiss.  As he gently cupped her breast, he promised himself he'd do anything to make this relationship work.


	10. Who Are You?

You don't have to read the whole story; here's a synopsis…

**HELLO AND GOODBYE **is a previous story: Sara asks Grissom to please forget that she's been pursuing him. She wants to start over as friends. Grissom thinks this is ironic; he had been thinking of asking her out.

**OLD SONGS is the sequel**.

Synopsis per chapter:

UNDER PRESSURE: A kid commits suicide and Grissom's reaction to it includes beating up the dead kid's father. He takes a leave of absence after that. Everybody thinks he's going on vacation, but he's actually planning to leave for good.

NOWHERE TO GO: Sara gives Grissom an envelope and asks him to open it when he's away. He goes home.

OVER YOU: Sara and Hank talk. Grissom realizes he's not over Sara.

NUMB: Remembers his parents, and a suicide attempt. He also gets a call from an old friend from college who talks about the past.

SARA: Grissom is leaving but first he opens Sara's envelope.

LOVE SONGS: Grissom and Sara finally meet. Grissom explains why he feels guilty over the kid's death.

HOLDING ON: Grissom and Sara talk about Hank. Grissom finally admits he loves Sara.

INSATIABLE: Just a romantic moment.

* * *

**WHO ARE YOU?**

11:00 THE NEXT DAY

Grissom fell asleep this time.

The boy was reading in bed when he heard the first heated words. He flinched. He knew what was going to happen: First, the words and the slamming of drawers and doors; then a sudden silence, and then the slaps…

His first reaction was to cover his ears, but even then he could hear the screams.

He got up then. He would do something tonight. He moved as if in slow motion, as if each step took him hours instead of seconds, but he was determined. He walked down the hallway, opening door after door, but finding each room empty.

When he opened the door at the end of the hallway, he saw someone's reflection on the glass doors of a cabinet. He recognized his own curly hair and his brown pajamas, but he didn't recognize the face above the collar. Grim and determined, it was the face of someone older. There was something else he didn't recognize; something shiny in his hand. He didn't know what it was but before he could see, he heard a slap and a whimper. He shivered. He walked into the room and screamed 'Stop -'

'…STOP-' Grissom mumbled and woke up with a start. He blinked and immediately froze. He was in a room he had never been in before, and instead of the comforting silence and darkness of his own bedroom, there were traffic sounds and a big window with open curtains that let the sunlight in. More terrifyingly, someone was lying on top of him; an unfamiliar weight that kept him from moving, even from breathing-

Terrified, he pushed away and got off the bed. For a few seconds he couldn't move; he'd stood by the bed, shivering, with the pounding of his heart nearly deafened him. He frantically looked at his hand, but it was empty. He was relieved. It had been a nightmare-

"Hey."

Sara's lazy greeting stopped his musings. She was smiling.

"Sara." He said hoarsely.

"Gil?" She frowned, "You ok?"

"Yeah." He nodded briefly. "Need a shower." He muttered and stumbled out of the room.

Grissom welcomed the cold water; the icy drops needling his back, distracting him and almost drowning the memory of the screams, the wordless screams…

He almost jumped when Sara suddenly opened the shower curtain.

"Good morning; want some company?" she smiled until she realized the water was cold "Gris, that water's freezing! How can you stand it?"

Grissom glanced at her. She was naked, completely at ease.

"Want me to wash your back?" she smiled

"No." he mumbled, turning off the water and reaching for a towel that he quickly wrapped around his waist. "I'm finished."

"Mmmmh, I like your hair. It's so curly." She said, touching it. "Here." She added, taking another towel, "Let me dry it for you."

Grissom stared at her for a moment.

"Sara, do you know how old I am?"

She winced but recovered quickly.

"Old, as in dirty old man?" she teased.

"I'm serious, Sara." he insisted, "You don't know what you're getting into-"

"Well," She whispered, pressing her body against his, "I know what YOU could be getting into if we went back to bed-"

A phone rang, interrupting her. Sara gave him a light kiss on the lips, put the towel around his shoulders and went to answer the call.

Grissom watched her go.

He sighed. This felt like a dream: Sara naked and beautiful, kissing him and drying his hair… He wasn't fooled, though. Soon he would have to answer her questions. She'd want to know why he had been crying his eyes out on a lonely street of Las Vegas.

Of course, she would be concerned for him and willing to help… She loved him after all.

Not that love would solve any of his problems, unless he remained in this little apartment, as in a cocoon. He smiled. Well, why not? Why not put his life in her hands?

He had the answer: Because he couldn't let others control his life.

He'd always faced life under his own terms; he had never feared the present since it brought challenges, and the future held no surprises. Gil Grissom the investigator, was his present and his future.

But Gil Grissom the child, was the wide eyed ghost that had always haunted his sleep, and now it was slowly demanding to be heard and dealt with.

He would deal with him, in order to become Gil Grissom the man. Would Sara understand?

He had to find a way to tell her that he had to leave.

When she returned, she found Grissom buttoning his shirt.

"That was Brass!" She said enthusiastically, "He had some good news! He says that Mrs. Martin is pressing charges against her husband!" she paused expectantly, but he just stared at her. She continued, "You were right, Gil; according to her, he'd been abusing the kids, emotionally and physically for years. Brass says that the DA has a strong case now, thanks to her."

"Really?" he asked neutrally.

"Yeah!" she nodded. She looked at him curiously, "Aren't you glad that she finally talked?" Grissom avoided answering by picking up his socks. Feeling a little self-conscious, Sara now looked around for her robe and put it on. It was an old flannel one. "So, anyway, Mrs. Martin says that she had been too scared to go to the authorities-"

"She could have gone." he interrupted. "She chose not to do it."

"He had terrorized her for years, Grissom"

Grissom looked incredulously at her.

"Do you think she's the victim here?"

"Well, no…" she hesitated, "But her husband's pretty violent-"

Grissom rolled his eyes disgustedly,

"Come on, Sara; she's just as bad as him." He scoffed. Then he added, "She knew all along that her son was in trouble and she didn't do anything to help. She lied when she talked to me, she lied to the School Therapists, and she lied to Social Services." he angrily put on his socks, "I mean, why is she collaborating with the authorities now? Do you think she's doing it out of consideration for her sons?"

"I guess -"

"She's not," he interrupted, getting up and looking around for his shoes. "She's just scared shitless, Sara, and do you know why?" he asked, but instead of waiting for an answer, he went on, "Because her sons have started talking to their therapists, and they're telling them that mommy didn't lift a finger to protect them. She's in trouble, Sara; she's just realized that she might be facing charges as an accessory to her husband's abuse! Hell, of course she has to press charges now, she isn't stupid; she's just a coward, a gutless bitch-" He hissed the last word with such venom that Sara involuntarily stepped back. He had never talked like this about anybody, least of all a victim of a crime. Sara gaped at him.

Grissom instantly regretted his words and tried to apologize, but he was out of breath from his tirade and frankly, he didn't know what to say.

Sara herself wished she had never mentioned Mrs. Martin.

"Grissom," She said softly and he looked up. She smiled at him; a smile that seemed too wide to be true. "I'm sure you are right; you know Mrs. Martin better that I do. I mean, after all, you talked to her, and I've never even met her." she waited for some sign that he wasn't mad anymore. None came, so she tried again. "Listen," she said cheerfully, "Are you hungry? I could cook that oatmeal I mentioned earlier. Or eggs if you prefer; I can go down the street to get some. Or" she paused, trying to draw his interest, "Why don't we go somewhere and have a real breakfast?" Again, no reply, "We could go down the street; they make these great Belgian Waffles with whipped cream and walnuts; you'll just love them…" she hesitated; he was staring at her as if she had grown an extra head, and it was unnerving. "Or you can order eggs, if you want, 'cause they cook just about anything and…and if they don't, we'll just… just-"

Grissom was frowning at her; he had never heard her babble like this and something about her demeanor bothered him too. The implied apology in her words, the insecure smile, the pleading in her eyes-

Suddenly he knew what it was: She was acting like a scared wife trying to placate her abusive husband. He couldn't believe it. Any minute now, she'd start singing that awful song:

Beware of the look in his eyes; they'll tell you the mood he's in…

There'll be times when he won't say a word,

And you'll wonder if it's something you've said…

"Are you scared of me, Sara?" he asked.

"What-?" she frowned, "No."

"Yes you are. You're acting as if-" he stopped. Then he added, "I acted like a jerk when you mentioned Mrs. Martin and you just-"

"Oh, Grissom," she interrupted, "Look, I'm sorry I mentioned her. It was stupid of me; I should have known that it was still a sensitive issue for you-"

"Are you blaming yourself for my own anger?" he glared.

"I'm not," she protested, "You're twisting my words. Listen-" she approached him and touched his arm. "…I don't want to fight over her, all right?"

"Sara." He interrupted, "I fell in love with you because you don't take bullshit from anybody. Don't start taking it from me just because you love me."

He picked up his car keys, and looked at her.

"I have to go." He mumbled, barely glancing at her.

"What?" She asked, and watched in confusion as Grissom left the room. "Where are you going?" she followed him to the living room. "Grissom!" She frantically grabbed his arm.

"I have to go, Sara." He mumbled, pulling his arm away. "I have a leave of absence-"

He looked for his travel bag. Last night Sara had convinced him to bring it up, saying something about taking a vacation in her apartment. They both had laughed. And then Sara had taken his hand. And even though there were things he should have told her before getting this far, he'd simply followed her to her bedroom. But, hell, how could he not? Making love to her was the stuff of fantasies, something he'd only dreamed about.

And now Sara was in front of him, pale, her arms crossed against herself as if she were cold.

"You're just going to pretend that nothing happened, aren't you." She wasn't asking.

"I'm not going to pretend anything-"

"Yes, you are," she accused, "That's what you always do." He didn't say anything and she searched for something to say, "I can't believe you're doing this, Grissom. Not after what happened last night."

He looked down. He knew what she meant. They were two shy people who had slowly but surely found their way into intimacy in just a few hours. He suddenly remembered her moans and her caresses, and the way she had looked up at him as he took her for the first time. He remembered how later she had said dreamily, 'Oh, we're so good together' as she rolled him on his back and made love to him. And it was true, surprisingly so. They were great together; they communicated well in bed, they had been so loving and tender, and playful- He had even joked, "You'll have to burn these sheets," because he knew how anal she was about stains, and they had stained them, all right… And she had only smiled drowsily…

And now she looked as if he had betrayed her.

"You're running away, Grissom."

He wished he knew how to reassure her, but right now he couldn't even touch her. He picked up his bag but he hadn't closed it and all his CD boxes spilled and fell open on the floor.

Sara watched as he kneeled on the floor, impatiently putting discs in boxes at random.

"You just don't want to be happy, do you." She said bitterly.

"Maybe." He admitted, trying to make everything fit in his bag. "Maybe I can't be happy knowing that you're afraid of me."

"I'm not!"

Grissom angrily closed his bag. "You should have seen your face." he could barely keep the disgust from his voice. "You looked as if you thought I was going to hit you -" he stopped, looking as if he'd suddenly realized something. His lips trembled briefly, but he got himself under control. "I'd never do that." He said, "I don't want to." he said, looking at his own clenched hands, "…I don't want to, Sara."

"You… you're afraid you're going to hit me?" she asked incredulously. He nodded reluctantly, and she was stunned. "But… you'd never do that!" Sara kneeled beside him. "You're the gentlest man I know." He didn't look up and she tried to reassure him, "You are, baby. You'd never raise a hand to hurt me or anybody else."

"Except for John Martin" he replied tiredly and she faltered momentarily.

"He had it coming," she evasively. Then she smiled tentatively, "And I assure you, Grissom; I'd never let you get away with anything. I can crush your windpipe with my bare hands."

He smiled a little, just to humor her. He knew very well that physical strength could be defeated by a single, well aimed insult. She could crush his windpipe, but he could crush her spirit. He had almost done that, simply by not taking the love she'd offered.

She gently caressed his cheek, and after a moment Grissom nuzzled his face into her palm.

"Gil, let's just forget all about Mrs. Martin-"

"Oh, Sara," he sighed tiredly, backing away from her, "This isn't about her-"

"Then what is it?"

Grissom leant on the wall.

"Please, trust me." she pleaded. "I love you."

"You don't know me."

"Then tell me who you are."

Grissom looked at Sara for a long time. He hesitated, but to her surprise, he answered.

"I'm…I'm someone who… for years, has tried to… to understand the rage inside him."

TBC

Thanks for your reviews!

Coming up: the last two chapters!


	11. Who are You? part two

WHO ARE YOU? Part Two

Thank you for your reviews and messages!

Jo: This is a shameless plug- you might like to read "Under the Influence", another of my GS stories.

So sorry about the delay; I spent a month trying to make Grissom talk…and I still don't think he would have said anything.

I'm afraid I piled on too many horrors on him, but hey, it's fiction after all!

* * *

She shivered and Grissom didn't know if it was because of what he'd said, or because her ratty robe didn't protect her much.

He knew that she was confused. She clearly hadn't expected that answer from him, and now she was searching for the right words to say.

"Grissom," she said, taking his hand, "Listen. There is anger in all of us-"

"I know." He said gently. He caressed her fingers, "You hand is cold." he noticed, "You should put on some clothes."

"What I need is a shower, but I'm not moving until we talk." She said firmly.

"Take your shower, Sara." he said patiently, "I'll wait"

She didn't move.

"I'll wait here." He repeated, "I promise."

"Gil-"

"Sara, I'll wait here. I'm done with running away, ok?" he said, searching for something in his pockets. "Here, take my keys. Take your shower and then we'll talk."

Sara stood under the hot water, moaning a little. Her back hurt, her legs hurt –not that she was complaining. She didn't mind the faint bruises on her body either; they were all physical reminders of her night with him and she'd never regret that.

She allowed herself a little smile as she reached for the body wash, glad that she'd bought this expensive stuff. She wanted to smell good for Grissom.

Her smile faded. What he'd said about rage really confused her. She was willing to deal with whatever tormented Grissom, but she wondered if he'd ever trust her completely.

There had been something about Grissom's eyes too… hopelessness –

Maybe she shouldn't have left him alone.

Not that she didn't trust him; oh, no. She knew he'd be there, just as he'd said he would.

But she couldn't help wondering…

"Damn." She whispered. She hurriedly finished rinsing off and grabbed a couple of towels and wrapped herself in them; she grabbed Grissom's keys from the place she had hidden them in, and hurried out-

From the end of the hallway she could see the entire kitchen and living room/dining area. He wasn't there.

"No." she moaned, "No, no, no, no, no-" she hurried back to her bedroom, whispering 'no, no, no' like a prayer…but feeling no real surprise at not finding him there. "Damn you, Grissom!" She growled, and she opened drawers and grabbed clothes and put them on carelessly. She returned to the living room and reached for her car keys… but they weren't there. Grissom had simply taken her own keys with him.

She felt a little relief when she noticed that his bag and cell phone were still there; he'd never leave his belongings just like that. And there might even be a clue in his phone, too; maybe someone called and asked for his help-

She noticed that someone was calling him right now. Sara hesitated only a few seconds before answering with a curt 'hello'.

"Is Virgil there?" A woman's voice, soft- an old lady's voice.

Sara identified herself as Grissom's girlfriend and the woman uttered a sigh of relief.

"Oh, I've been trying to reach him for hours! I'm Virgil's aunt from Chicago-" she explained, "He said he would come but he didn't-"

"He missed his flight, yes." Said Sara, "He's not here right now, but-"

"Is he all right?" she asked and then, to Sara's surprise, started to cry. "He hadn't called in years. We were so happy. We thought we could finally make it up to him-"

Sara hesitated between respect for Grissom's privacy and her own need to know more about him.

"Ma'am, can you help me?" she asked.

Grissom carefully climbed the stairs to Sara's apartment. He was juggling two paper bags filled with Styrofoam containers of breakfast goodies. He'd ordered eggs, waffles, fresh fruit, muffins, and coffee. He had ordered bacon, but had already eaten it; he didn't want to hurt Sara's sensibilities and he liked it hot and crispy. He was finishing the last of the slices just as he fished for the keys in his pocket to open the door.

"Hey, Sara?" He called out, closing the door with his shoulder. He lifted the bags when she saw her, "You were right about that place, they cook anything. They take their time to do it, though." He glanced at her and noticed the relief, plain on her face. He frowned. "What?"

"You're back" she said breathlessly.

"Yeah." He put the bags on the kitchen counter and turned to her. He realized she had been crying. There were still wet tracks on her cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She said, "I just thought-"

"You thought I'd left." He interrupted, "Didn't you see my note?"

"What note?"

"I left you a post-it on the bathroom mirror." he explained, going to her. "I would have told you, but you wouldn't have let me go-"

"Damn right." Sara said, pulling him into her arms and holding him tightly, "I would've grabbed you into the shower."

"Hey, you smell good." He said appreciatively. "Are you hungry?" He reached for her hand and noticed that she was clutching something. "What's that?"

"Nothing." She said –and mentally kicked herself for lying.

Grissom looked down and froze when he realized that she was clutching his phone.

"Who did you talk to?" he asked, still looking down.

"Your aunt called."

Anybody else would have thought that the news didn't bother him, but Sara knew him too well. His apparent lack of reaction was due to an enormous amount of self-control.

When he reached for his phone she resisted, and he had to gently pry it from her fingers.

"You had a lengthy conversation." He noticed, "What did you talk about?" he asked but before she could answer, he added, "No, wait. Don't tell me. I know what she said."

Sara hesitated. Emmy had told her the little she knew of Grissom's childhood. It wasn't much, but Sara didn't think Grissom would have ever volunteered this information.

"She's worried about you." She explained tentatively, "They were waiting for you at the airport and you didn't show up."

Grissom barely nodded.

"She said that your name is Virgil." She said, smiling a little; but Grissom's reaction surprised her: He reddened.

"I hate that name," he muttered, turning away.

He went back to the counter and started opening paper bags. The scents of the food, so enticing a while ago, made him nauseous now. Still, he took out the different containers and placed them on the counter, slowly because his hands were shaking.

He hated to feel like this; vulnerable and exposed – he felt as though he were naked, with his secrets written all over his body.

Sara approached him from behind and drew her arms around him.

"Hey," She said softly, "You can trust me- "

"Sara," he interrupted, "I know I owe you an explanation; but there are things I can't talk about."

"Grissom, please look at me." She asked, and he reluctantly turned within the circle of her arms, "If you don't want to talk, I'll understand. Just remember that you don't have to keep everything inside. Talking helps sometimes."

He was going to argue, but then he realized something important: Emmy didn't know everything.

Some secrets were his alone.

"All right, Sara." He muttered, "Let's talk."

Grissom was putting his CDs in the correct boxes, while Sara finished her waffles. He had promised to talk but only if she ate something first; she had glared and made some protests, but he'd been firm about it.

Sara glanced at the CDs.

"The Wall." She read "Ah, Pink Floyd; your favorite group. Want me to play it?"

"It's old stuff," Grissom said, barely glancing at it, "You won't like it-"

"But you do. I saw how carefully you put it in its box."

"You don't have to play it just because I like it." He argued but she was already taking the box with her.

"Wait here." She said.

He jumped when the song started. He only hoped he wouldn't be as sensitive about music as he had been the day before.

_You better make your face up in your favorite disguise   
With your button down lips and your roller blind eyes   
With your empty smile and your hungry heart   
Feel the bile rising from your guilty past_

Grissom watched as she moved around the living room, closing windows and curtains, and turning on a couple of lamps. She was creating an atmosphere of intimacy for him.

Grissom was still thinking of what to say, when she came to sit beside him on the couch. 

"I was going to tell you about rage." He said tentatively and she nodded. He cleared his throat and tried to say something else and failed, then tried again. "I really don't like to talk about myself-" He began, "But you already know that." He added sheepishly.

Sara smiled faintly. He clearly didn't know where to begin, and she wasn't going to pressure him. Yet.

"I told you it wasn't Mrs. Martin I was angry at." He said next.

Sara nodded. After Emmy told her a few things about Grissom, she was sure she knew who the 'gutless bitch' was.

"It's your mom." She said softly.

"Yeah." He admitted, shaking his head with exasperation. "I'm a fifty year-old man who's angry at his parents."

"We all have unresolved issues, Grissom."

"Sara, I'm not a little kid; I shouldn't feel like this. And it's unfair-" He added, "My mother… she did the best she could, I just-" he paused, trying to find the right words. "Sometimes children expect too much from their parents-"

"What did you expect from them?"

"Things… that they'd never be able to give, or do." He said, thoughtfully, "A quiet home, for instance." He shrugged, "You see, they fought all the time, and my father hit my mom; I hated that. I expected them to change because of me, but of course they couldn't. I didn't understand that they weren't just parents, they were people with lives of their own." He shook his head, "People who were truly wrong for each other."

"Emmy told me that your father left, eventually." She said, "It must have been hard for you."

"Yeah." he nodded. He couldn't imagine his parents living together now, but at the time he'd been devastated. Once, just after a big fight, there was a moment when Grissom's father had just stood there, looking at his wife. He said, 'you know what, Vera? if I stay I'll end up killing you'.

"What happened after your father left?" asked Sara.

"He came back a few times, but it was pretty much over between them. My mom had a couple of boyfriends… But she wasn't very lucky. She always attracted the wrong kind of man, Sara. Almost every guy she dated ended up abusing her."

"Damn." she muttered, "You saw them-"

"It was verbal abuse, most of the time." He explained, "But some of them slapped her." He admitted.

"Why did she let them, Gil?" Sara was indignant

"She didn't 'ask for it' if that's what you think." he sighed tiredly

"But it happened more than once," she argued, "There was a pattern-"

"Yes, but…look. We've dealt with abused people; you know how it is. They don't 'ask' to be abused and they don't consciously look for someone to hurt them. They are simply vulnerable people with low self esteem who desperately want to please someone… And the abusers put on a good act, too. They seem caring and nurturing until something snaps in their heads. Then the victims think there's something about themselves –their voices or their faces, whatever – that makes a perfectly normal person turn against them. They believe it's their own fault, not the abusers'."

"Did they hit you too?" she asked concernedly. .

"They ignored me, most of the time." He said evasively; he did NOT want to talk about that. "But I used to watch them; I thought there might be something on their faces that I could identify, so I could warn my mom. I never found anything, and they thought I was weird, for keeping a silent watch on them." He smiled mischievously. "It unnerved them."

"But what did your mom say about them?"

"She was a hopeless romantic, Sara." He replied, "She kept saying that 'this one' would be different." He paused a moment, remembering her vulnerability, her need to look pretty for her date... "It took me years to understand her, but I do now." He said, "Her childhood wasn't easy. My grandfather hated the fact that she was deaf and said so. He ridiculed her speech so much that she eventually refused to talk altogether. That lack of approval colored her life, Sara. She kept trying to please impatient, violent guys." He narrowed his eyes, "My father was like that sometimes, like a bomb ticking; he had this look in his eyes that told you not be around because in five minutes things would get ugly. I got out of the way, but my mom didn't. She always had this look on her face, just a split second before he hit her… as if she couldn't believe he'd do it." He said slowly, clearly remembering, "And then there would be slaps… and whimpers. And her awful screams, 'aaiiinnnooo'" he emitted a ghastly moan that gave her shivers. "And the next day she would have this awful, green-purple bruise on her face-"

"Did he hit you?" she asked, softly.

"-and yet, he was a nice guy most of the time. Funny, well-read-" he said, ignoring her question, "He was a musician who earned more money working in an office," he said, "He was successful, but I could tell he'd rather play the piano all day long. He'd sacrificed his career and it must have embittered him so much that he just-" he paused and shook his head, tiredly; "I'm justifying his behavior, aren't I?"

"You're trying to understand his actions, Grissom." She said, "It's hard to accept unreasonable behavior from someone we love."

"Unreasonable. That's the word." He nodded, "And it applies to both of them. They pushed each other's buttons. He communicated to her by signing, but if they were fighting, she turned her back on him, which made him mad. Or she would vacuum just as he started playing the piano. When they acted like that it was safer to go somewhere else and read. Thank God I learned to read early." He said humorously.

_When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse   
out of the corner of my eye   
I turned to look but it was gone   
I cannot put my finger on it now   
The child is grown   
The dream is gone   
and I've become comfortably numb_

"Your aunt's home was different, I guess." said Sara.

"Oh, yeah. It was completely different. That summer I got a glimpse of what happiness could be like."

"Your parents were getting a divorce -" she said, repeating what Emmy had told her. Grissom nodded, clearly uncomfortable. "How old were you?"

"About seven," He said, and soon he was lost in thought.

He'd missed his father so much that his mother sent him to her brother's house. It was a smart decision: Grissom loved it there and learned a lot too: Football from his cousins, fishing and plumbing from his uncle, and Spanish from his aunt. He smiled, reminiscing. His aunt Emmy would greet him each morning with a big hug and a kiss…'mi angelito' she called him. Her own two kids rolled their eyes when she called them by sweet names, but Grissom, so hungry for affection, just melted. "My aunt was…warm," he said softly, "The kind of mom you see only on TV. And my uncle was nice too; he taught me a lot about plumbing. In fact, I've never had to hire a plumber." He said smugly, and then he added, "What he really loved was fishing, though. Fishing and riding roller coasters." He finished. It was clear that those few weeks with that family had shaped an important part of who he was.

While Grissom reminisced, Sara recalled what Emmy had told her about Grissom's next visit, the following year: "He wanted to stay with us, but we said no: His mother needed him. She had a new boyfriend too, a good man; we thought Virgil should give him a chance. He needed a dad." She broke into tears, "He was sitting alone in that Greyhound bus, crying. When we visited him a few years later, something awful had happened. He had changed so much-" The woman had been so distraught, that Sara had asked her to calm down, promising to call as soon as she found Grissom.

"I've just realized something." Grissom said suddenly, "Yesterday I was ready to go to Chicago for a new job and a new life, but all I did was try to go back to one place where I felt safe-"

"Your uncle's home." She finished. Then she carefully added, "Emmy told me that you wanted to live with them-"

"Yeah, I think I begged them." He said, a little embarrassed, "I was a needy kid, Sara," he said self-deprecatingly, "but I guess Emmy told you that already."

"She didn't call you needy." Sara protested, "She said you were sensitive and smart. All you wanted was to feel secure and loved, and every child deserves that." She patted his hand, "Did your mom marry again?"

Grissom shook his head.

"She never did. She became a teacher" he said. "A very good one, by the way. She's retired now."

"Do you talk to her?" she flushed a little, "I mean, I know she's deaf, but-"

"We e-mail each other now and then, but no-" he said with a hint of humor, "-we don't 'talk'. We're very similar: We work, we read, we avoid relationships, and we keep our emotions under control."

She didn't comment, but he sensed her disapproval.

"It worked for me." He said, defiantly. "I liked my life, Sara. It wasn't much of a life by people's standards, but it was just what I wanted; I had a job I loved, I learned, I solved crimes, and I didn't hurt anybody; not until Melvin-"

"You hurt yourself." Sara said meaningfully.

He opened his mouth to argue this, but in the end he nodded reluctantly.

"After what happened yesterday I can't argue with that." He said ruefully, "I just wish I hadn't involved you."

"After what happened last night," she said with a little smile, "I'm not sorry I got involved. We're together and you're telling me things about yourself. I love that. It means that you trust me."

"But I feel like a wimp," he said ruefully.

"Well, you're not." She said, taking his hand reassuringly.

Grissom was distracted by the feel of her hand on his; he loved the way she had laced her fingers through his. Their palms were against each other… and suddenly, he remembered how their bodies had been close together like this…how her long legs had surrounded him, tightly, while his arms…

Grissom gulped. All he wanted right now was to kiss her and stop this talk that wasn't going to change anything. He tightened his fingers around hers and looked up. Their gazes met… He knew what Sara was feeling at that moment. He leant a little towards her…

…But Sara looked down.

"Grissom," she said, pulling her hand away, "We need to talk."

"Sara-"

"There's still something bothering you-" she interrupted firmly, "We need to deal with it."

Grissom sighed.

"Sara, I just don't know what else to say." He said, resignedly.

"Well…" she hesitated, "You talked about rage, but I think you're just being hard on yourself. I've rarely seen you lose your temper, not even when the rest of us do-"

"I learned to control it over the years. I used religion and philosophy to help me cope," he explained. Then he sighed, "Look, maybe I should simply tell you some facts about my life, so you understand. I was an angry kid, Sara. I used to get into fights and sometimes I had to be pulled away." He confessed, "I used to go after bullies at school, so I was some kind of hero to some, but I wasn't. I simply wanted an excuse to beat up someone. The problem was that I always got depressed afterwards-"

"You realized that it was wrong."

"I guess."

"What made you stop?"

"I didn't, not really. I simply learned to channel my anger." He shrugged. After a pause he said, "I was a very perceptive kid, Sara. Even as a kid, I knew what my problem was and tried to do something about it. I asked a teacher to help me get a Scholarship to study in other state. I wanted to get out of my mom's house." He looked at her and said, "I wanted to get away from my mom."****

"Why?"

"Because I felt trapped. She was deaf, and she didn't talk, so I had to talk for her. I was fed up." He said simply. Then he added with some reluctance, "I was angry at her and at everybody else. I thought leaving was the answer. But in the end I failed to get the Scholarship."

"What did you do then?"

"Remember what I told you about doors closing up? I felt they were all slamming shut. Summer was coming up; I knew I'd be walled up at home for two months and I couldn't take it. I took a handful of pills, my mom took me to a hospital-"

He would never admit this to her, but he had liked it there. He'd slept most of the time and the doctors' questions didn't bother him much. However, at the end of one week, people started coming in, intruding on his little paradise. Father Sebastian came, as well as some teachers; they all wanted to help but didn't know how; frankly, they were all embarrassed by the situation. But the one person who really helped him was the ER doctor. He didn't pity him or muttered platitudes about sin; he simply got him a job that kept him busy from them on.

"What did your mom say?" asked Sara.

"She was hurt by my behavior," he admitted, "She would cry and try to talk to me, and I'd pretend to be asleep. What a bastard, huh?" he said disgustedly. "When I went back home, she didn't ask much from me anymore. She went to school and learned to read lips, she even became a teacher-"

"And the boyfriends-"

"Never again."

"And you too went back to school-"

"And studied hard." He finished. "I was determined never to lose a Scholarship again."

He didn't mention the fact that the suicide attempt cost him the few friends he had. Parents forbade their kids to talk to the suicidal weirdo. And Grissom simply withdrew. He knew he deserved some punishment for what he had done. He became a ghost.

"I didn't get in trouble until I was in College." He said thoughtfully, "I beat up someone during a holiday break. I was depressed and I stopped going to classes; and-" he watched her closely as he said in a rush, "I drank and took drugs and was promiscuous."

"Wow." She said softly.

"Surprised?" he asked, knowing very well that she was. He wondered if she was disappointed too, but he couldn't tell from her expression. "We were a pathetic bunch, Sara. We went from one party to another and we slept with strangers, and we called that fun." He said, and then he added, "We drank and numbed ourselves but the next day our problems were still there. I even avoided looking into mirrors; I couldn't bear to see what I'd become." Then he smiled and added, "They used to call me 'Troy'." When she frowned, he added, "For Trojan. I was the only one who wore protection. I guess I still had some sort of social conscience."

"What made you stop?"

"Phillip Gerard talked to me. He said I was letting my personal life interfere with what he called a great career. He made me realize that I'd let my loneliness dictate my actions. I'd ended up degrading myself just to fill a void in my life. He said that the void would always be there, no matter what I did, while a career would make me forget that it existed. I thought that made sense."

"But one should never have to choose between a career and a personal life." Sara protested.

"Well, at the time I didn't have much of a personal life." He admitted, "When Gerard gave me that speech, I'd just puked all over myself and he and Gary were cleaning me up." He reddened, "I didn't feel too proud of my actions right then, Sara. And Gerard… he was like a father to me. I'd needed a father figure for so long, I simply followed his advice. And I really wasn't sacrificing much; I'd decided long ago that I'd never have a wife or kids-"

"Because you thought you would repeat your parents' mistakes."

"Yeah. For instance, I knew that I might inherit my mother's deafness. I didn't want a child of mine screaming for help, knowing that I wouldn't be able to hear him. Or hiding because of my temper. I chose a career and I'm glad I did. It opened up a vast world of knowledge, Sara. I filled my life with books and crime puzzles; I was busy… and I didn't miss anything."

_I don't need no arms around me   
I don't need no drugs to calm me   
Don't think I need anything at all   
No don't think I need anything at all_

"That is…" he hesitated. He looked at her, "Until I met you." He'd never met a girl like her. She was pretty but didn't worry about being attractive for 'the guys'. She didn't care about other people's opinion of her, she was smart and fearless and strong... Her only fault was the weakness she felt for him. "You're the only woman I've ever loved completely." He confessed.

She reddened at the intensity of this statement. She had to force herself not to throw her arms around him right then.

"Gil," she said, her voice quivering a little, "I think you've been too hard on yourself all your life. Everybody gets angry now and then; you simply repressed your anger so long that it exploded, and then you punished yourself. " she hesitated, "And you closed your heart to others."

He smiled faintly.

"You're right. That's what I did." He admitted, "It was the wrong way to deal with life, although it made sense at the time. I repressed my anger, but… I repressed every other feeling, too. I didn't know that in the long run it would be pointless, because feelings have a way of showing up. For instance, I get migraines whenever I don't show my anger or any other strong emotion." He looked pointedly at her, "People think I don't feel anything, but I'm always aware of my emotions, Sara; I simply don't act on them. I analyze them and explain them, and watch them from a distance. I watched you." He confessed, "But I couldn't tell you that I loved you, because if I allowed one feeling to come out, the rest would follow."

"Anger"

"And memories." He added. He took a deep breath. "I kept a hold on myself until I read your note, last night. You said you were my friend, and suddenly, I was reminded of all the times I'd needed one…" he gulped, "It was very moving." he admitted, "And suddenly all those feelings and memories that I'd kept in the back of my mind were there, in the open. Things that I did-" He closed his eyes, and couldn't say anything else for a while.

"You can talk about them now." She said encouragingly.

"It's not easy-"

"I know." She said, "I know it's hard to trust, Gil. It took me a long time to trust anyone but I don't mind the wait; I have you now. Do you remember last night?" She waited until he looked at her, "Remember how I slept like a baby, in your arms? I'd never done that before. I would either leave or stay awake until the guy left. I'd never trusted anyone the way I trust you. Last night, there was a moment when I just-" she blushed, "I gave myself to you. You could have done anything. You could have simply taken me, but you didn't. You gave everything back. You showed your feelings, and you were wonderful-"

"Maybe I forgot who I am." He gulped.

"Maybe you remembered who you wanted to be." She replied. She touched his hand, comfortingly, invitingly… but he didn't move this time. "What I want to say is that I love you." She said, "Whoever you are."

He wanted to believe that, and he truly wanted to touch her… But he knew that if he did, the feelings would be so strong that he'd lower his defenses… and then he wouldn't be able to stop the memories from crowding his mind. He couldn't tell her.

He was too ashamed.

"You don't have to talk right now." Sara said, backing off a little. She didn't want him to withdraw from her; she needed something relatively harmless to talk about. "Why don't you call your aunt?" she said, "She would love to hear from you."

"Not now, Sara."

"She loves you." She reminded him, "She has always regretted not letting you stay when you asked them."

She said and then she frowned, "By the way, she told me that your mom was involved with a good man once. It was one of the reasons they didn't take you in. Who was he?"

Grissom closed his eyes for a second and she could see he was making an effort to answer calmly.

"Emmy told you a lot of things." He said bitterly. "What else did she say?"

"Well…" She hesitated, "She just mentioned this guy as someone who could have been like a father to you."

He scoffed. He looked at her for a long time.

"What the hell," he muttered. "His name was Donald Jones. He was a cop, and he moved in shortly after my father left for good." He said, as if he were simply reading a list. "He learned to sign just to woo my mom, and he was the first to really take an interest in me." He looked away, "He took me to games and he took me to the police station." He smiled faintly, "He let me sit behind the wheel of his patrol car from time to time-"

Sara smiled; cops did that to gain children's trust.

He was silent for a while. He remembered those good times bitterly. He'd been conned along with his mother.

"I learned to trust him," He said, thoughtfully, "and I didn't watch out for signs. So, that first night when he came home drunk and started screaming at my mother, it was as if another man had stepped into his shoes."

"Oh, shit." Sara muttered wishing she hadn't mentioned him, "I thought being a cop would be a plus-"

"You know cops. When the tension builds up, most of them take it out at the gym or at the bar, but some of them take it out at home. With him it was a monthly event at home."

"I'm so sorry, Grissom." She said sincerely.

"Do you know what the worst part is?" He asked, disgustedly, "The first time that it happened, I blamed my mom. I thought she'd done something to make him mad, just as she'd made my dad mad. Even as this guy hit her, I was angrier at her than him for ruining things. But it was my fault. I'd let him con me. "

"Is that-" she gulped, "Is that why you wanted to live with your aunt?"

He looked at her and he tried to say something, but in the end he simply nodded. Then he said

"He called me Virgil." He said after a moment, "My parents had always called me Gil, but this guy-" He suddenly said in a hoarse voice, "Vir-Gil" he was clearly imitating the cop's voice and he must have done it well because he actually shivered. "Vir-Gil, daddy's hee-eere."

"Damn, damn." She muttered, "Gil, doesn't that make it hard for you to work with cops?"

"Not really. I like the fact that I can make or break their cases. Sometimes I do have the upper hand."

"You should have told your aunt. She simply believed what your mom had said about him."

_Hush now baby, baby don't you cry   
Mama's gonna make all of your nightmares come true   
Mama's gonna put all of her fears into you   
Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing   
Ooooh babe, ooooh babe, ooooh babe   
Of course mama's gonna help build the wall_

"It was a secret." He explained, "We were always keeping secrets, Sara; we were cowards, the two of us."

"You were just a kid, Grissom." She amended, "She was the adult. She should have protected you, always" she said. She patted his hand, "I can understand your anger now. But you need to let go. Maybe you ought to talk to her-"

"I can't." he said curtly,

"Grissom, you need to. Maybe she herself tried to talk and you didn't let her-"

"Sara, I told you, we don't talk. Ever. We discuss books and philosophy but that's it."

"Ok." She said, backing off for a moment, "But don't make the same mistake with your aunt. Call her. She needs to hear from you. Did you know that she keeps a scrapbook? She's collected everything that's been published about you. She knows you have a great career, but in her heart you're still the little kid she couldn't help." Then she glanced at him, "Although she tried, didn't she? Years later, they wanted to take you home with them-"

"Yes, but-"

"But you said no. And Emmy says that you had changed-"

"I'd just tried to kill myself, Sara-" he said brutally "-of course I'd changed. And they were just feeling guilty-" he dismissed, "I didn't want compassion." He looked at her, pointedly, "Compassion never got me anywhere."

He clearly wanted to avoid talking about this, and for a moment they remained in silence.

_Daddy's gone across the ocean_

_Leaving just a memory_

_A snapshot in the family album_

_Daddy what else did you leave for me?_

"Hey, my father left me a book on butterflies." He said suddenly, evidently welcoming the chance to change the subject. "The text wasn't very scientific, but I really loved that book."

"Really?" she smiled, "Did it help you choose your career?"

"I'm sure it did." He nodded thoughtfully, "You know, I think I have that book somewhere; the blood ruined some pages, but-" he paused. All color drained from his face. He had a sudden picture of blood spraying and staining his precious book, and a scream-

"Grissom? What is it?"

"Nothing." He said, but Sara noticed the change in his features, mostly in his eyes. Cold, lifeless eyes. Thankfully he looked away almost at once. But now he felt a sudden need to talk.

"Don took me to the firing range, once. He wanted to teach me to shoot but I refused. Was he pissed at me!" he smiled briefly, "But I paid attention to everything he did. So… one night, just as he started fighting with my mom, I-" he took a deep breath, "I went to the living room, took the gun he'd left on the table, and shot him-"

"Grissom-" She gasped "God, Gil, did you hurt him?

"Yeah. There was a lot of blood." He nodded, matter-of-factly.

"What did your mom do?"

"I think she took the gun away from me. Or maybe I dropped it, I don't know. I do remember that she locked me in my room; I heard an ambulance come and go, I heard some voices… and then nothing. When my mom came back, she looked as if she had aged years in a single day. She said everything would be all right, and a few days later we moved."

"You moved?" she frowned, "But what about him?"

"I don't know." He said,

"You and your mom never talked about it?"

"We must have at some point, but I don't remember. But it changed us, Sara. My mom dated less after that. I got into fights. I must have known, deep inside, that I'd done something terrible-"

"You felt guilty-"

"And ashamed-"

"And you tried to die because of it." She finished. They remained in silence for a moment. "When your uncle offered to take you with them you said no." she said thoughtfully, "You never went back, not even for a visit."

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Why? Did you think they would find out about the shooting?"

"I just wasn't who they thought I was."

"What do you mean?"

"I knew what I had done." He said slowly, "I knew who I was and what I was capable of-"

"Grissom, you were just trying to protect your mom-" argued Sara.

"You don't understand." He replied, "I didn't do it for her. I did it because I wanted to hurt him." He confessed, "I may have felt guilt afterwards but not at that moment. I was glad that he was in pain. I loved the look of dumb surprise on his face." He scoffed, "He couldn't believe I'd shot him; he just kept looking down at the blood spreading on his clothes and then at me… And all I could think of was that I was safe at last-"

Sara frowned. There was something that bothered her. Why had Grissom reacted like that, this time? For him to pick a gun and shoot someone… something must have happened-

She didn't know how she found the answer; maybe it was the knowledge gathered in many little pieces that suddenly came together as in a jigsaw puzzle: The sudden promiscuity, the self destruction… the rage... the way he had shut the world off. The way he avoided touch…

Some of his earlier words made sense now. He must have screamed for his mother's help, but she couldn't hear him. And like a victim of abuse, he felt he'd done something to deserve it, ('I let him con me.'), and had kept quiet about it. They never talked about anything…

"He did something awful to you." She whispered, watching out for his reaction. Sara saw the deep blush… and the dead eyes again. "And you stopped him before he did it again."

He looked away. He wished he could block the memory of his taunts, as easily. But they were there ('oh, cry baby' 'da-dee's heee-eere, Veeer-geeel…') which had made him hate his name so much, or ('Cry babies tell their mommies, Vir-gil.').

He was surprised to hear himself talk.

"He waited 'til my mom fell asleep." He said softly. "She'd never hear anything-"

Sara's eyes filled with tears.

"Son of a bitch" she muttered, trembling in anger.

"Yeah." He nodded softly.

"He's the one who kept you from visiting your aunt, then."

"No." he shook his head, "he didn't mind; he knew I'd never say anything. I was the one who refused. I just couldn't go. I wasn't the same anymore. I didn't want them to know."

"And when they asked you to live with them-"

"I said no. It was too late." he said, staring ahead, "I was so damn angry… and ashamed." He'd felt unclean, undeserving of their love, now more than ever.

"Emmy would have loved you anyway-"

"No." He said, shaking his head, "No. She would have felt pity. Like you."

Sara gulped. She desperately tried to find a way to reach out to him.

"I am sorry that you lived through all that, Grissom." She said carefully, "But what I feel right now is anger." She said, "_You _had a right to be angry, all these years ago. I wish someone had told you that. I wish-" She paused for a moment, and then she added, "I wish I could have been there, to keep him from hurting you. I would have crushed his throat with my hands-"

To her surprise, he smiled.

"No, Sara." he said fondly, "You believe in justice, not revenge."

"Yes; but I'd do anything to protect you." She said firmly.

He finally looked at her, and it was as if he was seeing her for the first time today. This woman, so strong and beautiful, so different from any other woman he'd ever met… she would really do anything for him. Nobody had ever done that.

She had said it many times, but now he believed her.

"You love me." He said wonderingly.

"Yes."

He reached out a trembling hand to her.

TBC


	12. The Air that I Breathe

Thank you for your reviews and messages.

I wanted this to be the last chapter, but this song fit the story line so well, I felt it deserved a chapter of its own.

But I'm finishing the last chapter, "The Day we Meet Again" and I'll post it soon.

THE AIR THAT I BREATHE  
(The song is by The Hollies)

* * *

Holding his breath, Grissom reached out until he finally touched Sara's face. For a moment he was afraid; he was sure that she would reject him. She didn't. She smiled and leant into his touch.

He exhaled with relief.

"Promise me-" he whispered urgently, "-promise me not to think of me as a victim. When you look at me, will you try to see Grissom, and not Virgil?"

Sara couldn't answer immediately; she was still trying hard to hold back her tears. But she covered his hand with her own, and after a moment she spoke.

"I promise to look at you with love." She whispered. "Always, Grissom." she said, "No matter what."

She waited until he acknowledged her words with a nod, and then she reached for him. Cautiously, she invaded his personal space until she was able to put her arms around him. She held him as close as she could, until he relaxed and leant against her.

"You kept it to yourself, all these years-" she whispered, "Grissom, nobody should have to bear this alone."

"I didn't remember all of it," he explained, "I had flashbacks of the shooting now and then… but I didn't remember the rest." He leant his forehead on her shoulder, "I didn't want to remember, Sara. It's nothing to be proud of."

"Gil, listen. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Sara said firmly. "You didn't deserve any of this-"

He loved her for saying that. Maybe hearing those words aloud might convince him that, indeed, he didn't deserve it.

"Being a victim is so degrading-" he muttered.

"Oh, Gil, no, don't think like that. Look, we need to talk-"

"Not now." He pleaded, burrowing his face into her neck, "Please."

"-not to me, if you don't want to," she said quickly, "Someone else, then. Please?"

Grissom closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk anymore; he was sure that if he opened his mouth again he'd start to cry and he didn't want to do that in front of her. He didn't doubt that she would understand; she might even welcome it as a chance to comfort him, but to him, silence would always be safer.

Sara needed reassurance, though.

"Please, Gil." She whispered in his ear, punctuating her words with soft kisses. "Please."

He shivered under her caresses. "Please," and she kept saying the word and kissing his cheek, until he spoke.

"Yes." He gasped at last. Oh, he'd say yes to anything she asked him. At that moment, he felt as if all his memories were turning into ashes, burned down by the wonderful heat of her body, so close to his. She was curvy and soft and oh, so alive. And she fit in his arms.

"Oh, God," he sighed, "it feels as if-"

"As if?" she asked, her words a bit muffled by his cheek.

"-As if I'm holding you for the first time." He confessed. "I held you last night, but… this is more real."

And scary. After all they had talked about, he felt awfully exposed; it was as if he were naked in all senses. Oh, they had already slept together, but last night they hadn't even turned on the lights. Right now it was daylight and she would see him…really see him.

That was the problem with physical relationships: They made you take a hard look at yourself, making you aware of every flaw. It was disturbing for Grissom, who for years hadn't worried about his physical appearance.

As a child he had known that he was 'cute' and hated it. (Young Gil had blocked the reason behind this, but now Grissom realized that even as a kid, he was aware that beauty attracted molesters.)

Oh, as a young adult and even as a teen he had been aware of himself; he knew that women found him attractive, but he hadn't particularly cared or taken advantage of it, (except in College, with disastrous results).

As he grew older, Grissom had stopped caring about people's opinion. Until now.

Now he wondered what she saw in him. He couldn't ask her, but maybe all he had to do was to think of the circumstances of their first meeting, during a Seminar in San Francisco. He had expected to get the half-hearted attention of sleepy students and young cops; that is, the usual. But he was wrong. She was there this time; firing up questions, challenging his statements, hungry for knowledge and recognition.

He was immediately smitten, he could admit it now. That first night he had been aware of everything she did, even as he spoke to the whole group. When the class ended, he took a long time to put his material in order, fervently hoping she'd stay around so they could talk. He dodged some of the other female students (who asked things like, 'are you married?' 'do you have a girlfriend?'), and when they finally left, there she was. She approached him shyly, and asked him questions… about his work, and about science and books.

She was different all right; she didn't flirt, not really, and she was incapable of playing coy games. And he had the feeling that she wasn't really looking at him but inside him. Not into his heart, but into his brain. And eventually, his knowledge dazzled her and she fell in love. For years he believed she was in love with his brain. He never let himself believe she could love his heart and his body, too.

But she had, last night. The reality of these last twenty four hours hit him once again. They had made love, he'd revealed his secrets… It was too much. In a moment of abrupt honesty, he mused aloud,

"I can't believe I let you touch me-"

"What-" she started to pull away in order to look at him, but Grissom stopped her.

"You touched me, Sara." He repeated, holding her tightly, "You've seen me inside and out, now; I'd never trusted anyone like that before."

"Gil, you'll never regret it, I promise." She said firmly, "your heart is safe with me."

Grissom believed her, but he couldn't help wishing he were younger and appealing, if only for her sake. He wished he were in better shape; he wished… he wished he didn't feel so inadequate.

And the worst (or best, he couldn't decide just yet) was that Sara seemed to know what he was thinking, because she slowly began to touch him, as if to reassure him of his appeal to her. She kissed his neck, chuckling when he shivered.

"You're sensitive there." She noticed, kissing him again.

She was tender… and bold, too- he gasped when she reached under his clothes-

Grissom told himself to stop thinking, and just reciprocate.

When Grissom woke up, he found himself staring at her. They had fallen asleep in each other's arms and now they were lying face to face, sharing one of her pillows. He smiled.

He remembered an old song from the seventies (didn't he know any recent song, for God's sake?), and it felt so appropriate…

_making love with you  
has left me peaceful, warm and tired  
what more could I ask  
there's nothing left, to be desired  
peace came upon me and it leaves me weak  
so sleep, silent angel-_

Perfect. And he was going to ruin it by telling her that he had to leave for a while. He needed closure. 'Truth brings closure' he had said once, and he believed it. For him, that meant finding out what had happened to Donald Jones. He didn't want her to know, though. If she knew, she'd offer to help, she'd want to get involved… Or maybe she'd try to stop him.

And there was something else he couldn't tell her: He still didn't know if he'd go back to CSI.

"Hey." She whispered, interrupting his musings.

"Hey, Sara."

She loved that look on his face. It said 'I'm exhausted and happy.' She noticed too, that his lips were a bit chapped and swollen after her enthusiastic ministrations.

She touched his bottom lip with the tip of her finger.

"I went overboard, didn't I?"

"Did I thank you for that?" he replied, his mouth curving in a mischievous smile.

"Yes, I think you did." she replied, smiling back.

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Sara-" he said abruptly, "I'm going to take the leave of absence."

He noticed the subtle change in her smile. Suddenly, it seemed too bright.

"That's ok. You deserve some vacation time." she said.

"I'll visit Herb and Emmy." he explained, "Gary, too."

"That's great." She said, "It really is." And she smiled the toothy grin he loved.

Inwardly, though, Sara was scared. What if he felt so safe in Chicago, that he didn't need her anymore? What if he found it easier to start anew than coming back to old troubles?

She didn't want to think of that now.

"Hum, Grissom? You haven't eaten anything since yesterday, have you?" She said, trying to get out of bed.

"Sara, I'm fine." He assured her, keeping his arms around her. "Stay here with me."

He caressed her shoulder, noticing how her skin turned pink and feverish under his fingers.

"Your body's so soft." He said dreamily, "It feels like velvet." He whispered, and then looked at her, "You're warm velvet on steel."

"You mean I'm bony." She said apologetically. "I've lost some weight, but-"

"No, Sara." he said quickly, "what I mean is that you're warm and soft. And lovely," he added pointedly, "But you're also strong." He pulled back to look at her, "Strong-willed. You're not going to let me get away with anything." He smiled a little, "Are you?"

A half smile graced her lips.

"Grissom, I won't let you get away, period."

"Good." He said gratefully. "Because sometimes all I want to do is run." He confessed ruefully. "But that's not what I need."

"And if you ever need to run, I'll go with you." She said, smiling. "Now, aren't you hungry, Griss? There are still some muffins-"

But Grissom didn't let her move, and to her surprise, he started to sing.

_If I could make a wish  
I think I'd pass  
can't think of anything I need....  
no cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound  
nothing to eat, no books to read  
making love with you  
has left me peaceful, warm and tired  
what more could I ask  
there's nothing left, to be desired  
Sometimes  
all I need is the air that I breathe  
and to love you_

She gaped at him. He was clearly embarrassed, but he bravely kept singing while gently tucking her under the covers again. He kissed her cheek and then wrapped his arms around her as he repeated the chorus.

Sara's last coherent thought was that she would start listening to his discs. Sometimes a song said it all.

TBC

Remember, reviews light up my life…


	13. The day we meet again Part one

THE DAY WE MEET AGAIN Part one.

This is the song that started it all…

Thank you for sticking around to the end. It was great to get such encouraging reviews! I thought this would be the final chapter, but it grew and grew and now it's a two-parter.

Note: The case mentioned by Sara is based on one of the cases described in the book "Proclaimed in Blood" by Hugh Miller.

Spoiler: The accused is entitled

The Day We Meet Again  
(The song is by The Moody Blues)

* * *

Warrick was growing impatient; the case was going nowhere and his only hope was that Sara would get some results. But when he entered the lab, instead of results he found her still working on the nasty contents of the DB's stomach. She was listening to a song he'd never heard before. 

_The day we meet again_

_I'll be waiting there_

_I'll be waiting there for you_

_Cos the years have been so lonely-_

"What is this, oldies night?" mumbled Warrick, checking out the CD box.

Sara merely smiled. She had discovered that some songs really said it all. Plus, when she listened to this CD she felt closer to Grissom. She knew it was one of his favorites.

"You haven't finished yet?" Warrick glared and immediately regretted the tone he'd used. He knew he shouldn't take his frustrations out on her, and he expected her to tell him so. To his surprise, she simply said 'no' and continued doing her work.

"Why are you so happy?" he asked, a little peeved by her sunny attitude. "You like this stink?"

"It's not that bad." She said without lifting her gaze. Warrick scoffed and sat beside her to help.

Sara really couldn't help smiling; she had just read a very upbeat message from Grissom. He had enclosed pictures for the first time and he looked happy, standing behind his uncle and aunt. Herb and Emmy were old but sturdy people, and they seemed overjoyed to have their nephew back with them. Grissom had been with them for almost a week, and they had done all the things they had only dreamed about for years.

_'We borrowed a boat and went fishing…_' he wrote _'Emmy is very intrigued by you_-'

His message did turn melancholic at one point: _'I wasted forty years and I can't tell them why. All I can do is apologize to them. But they insist they understand, so we're not dwelling too much on the past.'_ And later he added, _'Did I apologize to you for wasting eight years, Sara? If I didn't, I promise it's the first thing I'll do when we meet again.'_

Sara was glad his e-mails were becoming more and more optimistic. His messages had been a bit dark at first: _'I used to interview criminals and wonder what made us different, if anything. Too often, I've managed to solve a case by putting myself in the killer's place. It's scary.'_

But no matter what he wrote, the one message that she knew by heart was the first he'd sent.

'I'm afraid you'll gag, Sara. I've been singing an old song that goes like this:

_Though we have to say goodbye for the summer_

_Darling, I promise you this, I'll send you all my love_

_Every day in a letter… sealed with a kiss'_

She didn't gag.

She noticed that while their e-mails were long and chatty, their phone conversations were somewhat strained. Sometimes Sara didn't even know what name to use when they talked.

"Hey, Grissom- Gil, I mean-" she would always say, following that with, "How are you, baby?" She didn't know that the word made Grissom cringe. He wasn't a '_baby_' for God's sake. Still, it was Sara's term of endearment and he silently promised to get used to it.

They had talked the other night, and Sara mentally reviewed that conversation.

"-my father phoned me once from San Diego." Grissom had said, "He invited me to come over but I never did. I hadn't seen him in years, and I didn't want to disturb my new found balance-"

"And you already had a surrogate father." Sara commented, thinking of Phillip Gerard. Then she added as an afterthought, "You don't respect Gerard that much now, do you? Not after the tricks he used during Tom Havilland's trial. "

"I was disappointed," he admitted, "But I understand why he did it, Sara. Private consultations are the fastest way to make a buck and he needs the money; he's twice divorced. But to tell you the truth, this that wasn't the first time we had a disagreement." He said, "There was another, years ago. It was over you."

"Over me?" she frowned. "Why?"

"I told him all about you right after I met you at the Seminar." He explained ruefully, "He immediately said I shouldn't allow any distractions in my life."

"This, from a twice-divorced man?" she asked incredulously.

"Uh, huh. He failed to see the irony." He said, "When he found out that you were working with me, he said I was making a mistake."

Sara was silent for a moment.

"He was smiling when he mentioned Hank." She remembered, "He _enjoyed_ telling you, didn't he?"

"He thought I'd crumble, yes." He admitted, "But he forgot that he had trained me too well; I'd never let my personal life interfere with a case."

"That's because unlike him, you have integrity." She said firmly. Then she added sheepishly, "I hope I'm up to your standards, Grissom –I mean, Gil. Oh, and by the way-" She said in a lighter tone, "-if you visit him, tell him that I said-"

"Hey, no swearing on the phone!" he interrupted with a laugh, "No, I won't see him." He said, "He saved my life once and I'll always be grateful, but I'll keep my distance.'

Later, when she said "Grissom, I mean, Gil" for the third time, he quietly said

"Call me Grissom, I don't mind."

"Really? Doesn't it feel impersonal to you?"

"It's how you say it, that counts."

* * *

_And just in case you're wondering_

_Will it really be the same?_

_You know we're only living for_

_The day we meet again_

By the end of his second week in Chicago, Grissom began to make plans to see his aunt and uncle again.

"You could visit, you know." he said as he cleaned a fish, "There's more to Vegas than casinos, you'd have a great time."

"Wouldn't we get in the way?" asked Emmy. "You must be awfully busy."

"I'll find a way." He said, smiling at her.

And Grissom realized for the first time that he had already decided to go back to Las Vegas. He knew he'd feel uncomfortable at first, as if he were the new guy at the lab, but he could handle it. His friends were there, after all. Sara was there.

"You smile while you gut the fish," Emmy teased, "That's sweet."

Grissom smiled back. At moments like these, he felt he could do anything he put his mind to. He'd go back to Las Vegas, but he'd keep in touch- maybe he'd even find a way of getting these old people to move to a sunnier place-

He stopped right there. It was nice to make plans, but before he involved other people in his llife, there was something he needed to solve first.

He had already put it off for too long.

That night he called Brass and asked him to locate someone for him.

"Donald Jones," Grissom said, "He should be about seventy years old now; he worked as a cop forty-five years ago," he added, mentioning the name of the cities Jones had worked in.

Brass didn't ask Grissom why he needed the information; he simply set out to work.

It wasn't easy at first because small town police files were notoriously deficient. Then, acting on a hunch, Brass stopped looking for Donald Jones 'the cop' and looked for Donald Jones 'the convicted felon'. Bull's eye. Brass immediately called his friend.

"I think I've got 'your' guy." He said, "There's a Donald Jones who worked in law enforcement in Santa Monica until 1964. He worked in several cities-" Brass skipped a few paragraphs and then he added, "He was charged with indecent behavior, assault, and sexual offences several times, but the charges never stuck. Being a cop helped, I guess. He simply moved on to the next city-" He paused. He read the rest of the page in order to give Grissom a short version. "Apparently, this guy wormed his way into single mothers' homes and did a Jekyll and Hyde act. Nice husband and great stepfather, until wifey didn't cook his favorite dish or kiddie did too much noise… He was charged with sexual assault on kids a couple of times, too-"

"But he ended up in jail-" Grissom said as if to reassure himself.

"Yeah. Miami wasn't as lenient as the other cities he'd lived in. He was sentenced to do life." He read on, "But he's not in jail anymore; he was beaten up so many times, he was moved to a hospital for inmates-" Brass mentioned the name of the hospital. "-And he's still there, unless this file hasn't been updated. I'll find out if you want."

"No." he said quickly, "No, thanks, I can do that. Where is this hospital?"

"Santa Barbara." Brass answered, "Who is this guy, Gil?"

"Nobody." He answered evasively, "I'm just doing a favor to a friend."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad to help. I hope this investigation means you're missing your job." Brass added.

Grissom mumbled his thanks to Brass and hung up. He remained motionless for a long time. He was staring at the phone in his hands.

He hadn't killed Jones, thank God.

On the other hand, Donald Jones was_ alive_.

He was still thinking about this, when the phone vibrated with another call.

"Hey, baby!" it was Sara.

Grissom forced himself to answer with enthusiasm but she gradually noticed that he seemed distracted; his answers were mere monosyllables- clearly, his heart just wasn't in it. Suddenly, a tiny seed of worry found a fertile place in her mind. Had something happened? What if being with his family made him reconsider his career options? What if he decided to stay in Chicago? What if he didn't want her anymore-? She told her active and highly insecure mind to stop it, and decided to draw Grissom's attention the only way she knew: Telling him of the case she was currently investigating.

It was horrific. A couple had been assaulted in their own home the night before; first, the husband had been savagely attacked with a knife and killed, and then the wife had been raped, beaten up, and left for dead.

"Mrs. Rowe's injuries are severe, specially her head's." Sara said, her voice faltering a little, "She was repeatedly smashed against a wall until she lost consciousness, and then she was raped." She gulped, "She was able to see her assailant though-"

"There was only one assailant?" Grissom interrupted.

"Yes. She identified him as a friend of her husband's-"

"Did she?" he frowned. He was becoming interested despite himself, "Any description she gives so soon after the attack might not be really helpful-" He said, "Head injuries usually leave a person disoriented-"

"Well, she gave us a full description-"

"And what do you know about this suspect?"

"His name is Andrew Fowles. He had been at their house before, so he knew his way around. And he had two motives according to Mrs. Rowe: this guy and her husband were friends but rivals in business too. He had been losing clients to Mr. Rowe and was bitter about it. Plus, Mrs. Rowe had rejected his sexual advances, and he was angry at her too. Brass is on his way to pick him up."

Grissom was silent for a moment.

"Sara, ask the doctors to determine the location of her head injuries -"

"-All right," she said with some hesitation.

"- that will help establish whether you can trust her recollections-"

"Grissom?" she interrupted firmly, "She's not a suspect. She was raped, she was brutalized-she _is_ the victim here"

"I know she is," he said gently. "And if the evidence supports her statements, you'll be able to make a case, but if there is any doubt-"

"So far the evidence _has_ supported her recollections, Grissom-" she said. She hated it when he acted as if she didn't know how to do her job. She sighed. "Griss, please don't worry. Nick and I have everything under control- we're working in harmony by the way," she added, "We're being supportive of each other."

She sounded very pleased with herself and that made Grissom pause. What did she mean by 'being supportive'? He waited for her to continue.

"I've been thinking-" she said, "Maybe he has the right idea, Grissom. Maybe we shouldn't concentrate so much on the evidence, but care about the victim too-"

"Sara, the evidence-" he sighed, "-the evidence it's what we are there for. Caring about the victim is for Social Services."

Sara's silence told him he had said the wrong thing.

"We're working on the evidence too, Grissom." She said slowly, "What I meant is that maybe we shouldn't be suspicious of _all_ people, all the time."

"Sara, I'm not suspicious; I just don't have any expectations from people-" he cringed instantly. Now _that_ was definitely the wrong thing to say. He heard her sigh.

"Grissom," she said softly, "I just… I just feel that being in love has made me start to have a little faith in others." She only wanted to show him how being in love had transformed her, but Grissom's silence seemed eloquent enough to her: He just didn't understand.

"I'll keep you posted, ok?" she said before hanging up.

Grissom let the phone drop from his hand. This was what he had been afraid of all along: That their differences would start to show. She was questioning everything he believed in -the evidence. What she didn't realize was that by questioning this, she was questioning everything he _was_, in fact.

And Grissom knew that he couldn't change his own beliefs, not for anyone- not even for her.

What did that song say? '_We're fire and ice, the dream won't come true-_'?

After a moment, Grissom picked up his phone again. He needed to make a reservation for a flight to Santa Barbara.

* * *

Santa Barbara Health Care for Seniors was a pretty name given to a hospital that housed prison inmates too sick or too old to be with the general population. Terrence Pitt had worked there for so long that by now he had a sort of sixth sense about visitors. One glance was enough to know what their intentions were. People who visited Donald Jones were either victims or victims' relatives, and they came either to harm him or to talk. He pitied the ones in the last group the most. All they wanted from Jones was an apology; they simply wanted to hear him say, 'I'm sorry' or 'I did something awful to you and you didn't deserve it;' just the sort of insincere thing prisoners say when they are up for parole. But Jones denied them even that little consolation. He didn't deny the harm he had caused them; he simply denied having done anything _wrong_. 

And as for the ones who came to harm Jones… they were invariably disappointed; all of them came hoping to face the evil guy who had tortured them in the past – only to encounter a decrepit old man. Very few of them dared to hit him. Some had, in the past.

In his opinion, Gil Grissom looked like all of Jones' victims: He had the haunted blue eyes, the hair that was graying but had once been light brown, and the age: late forties to early fifties. According to Pitt's experience, this guy was one of the talkers –completely harmless. Still, rules were rules, and Pitt took Grissom's cell phone, belt, pens, keys and anything that might be used as a weapon.

"You can go in, sir." Pitt said then, "He's in the garden, beyond that wall over there. There'll be a guard nearby." He warned.

Grissom walked down the path. He was about to face Donald Jones and he still didn't know what he was going to say or do. He was only aware of a coming migraine, and of his heart pounding wildly in his chest. That would be the biggest irony, he thought suddenly: Him, being struck down by a heart attack while the boogey man lived on.

An old guard let him pass to the garden. 'Garden' was actually too grand a name for it. It was just a small square of dirt and little patches of grass surrounded by tall brick walls. There were a few trees here and there, providing shade and leaves that someone had raked and left to rot.

There was a picnic table in the middle of this ruin, and a man sitting next to it.

Grissom stopped a few feet away. He asked himself whether he _had_ to do this. Couldn't he just keep all those memories in a dark corner of his mind? Or learn to forget and _pretend_ that nothing bad had ever happened? He had done it for so long-

He could invent new memories, _forgive and forget_-

_No way, _he told himself firmly, forcing himself to go on.

As he approached Jones, Grissom noticed several things. There was an old wheelchair a few feet away from Jones, who was sitting on a hard wood chair. Someone had placed a glass of water, newspapers, and a book on the table, but well out of Jones' reach. Someone liked to keep this guy frustrated.

Grissom looked closely at the man in front of him. He hadn't expected to see the young cop who had conquered his mother's heart only to break it, but this… this was just an old man who needed a wheelchair to move around. He had not only been beaten up, but maimed further by whoever had set his broken bones: someone had purposefully done a bad job on him. Jones had to stare all day long at his misshapen legs too, since nobody bothered to cover them up. Grissom regarded all this cooly, as if from a greater distance than the few feet that separated them right now. Eventually he took a seat on the other side of the table and waited until Jones acknowledged him.

The old man glanced up and then away.

"Hello, Don." Grissom said calmly.

The quiet tone reassured Jones. Virgil sounded like a guy who wanted to talk, and Jones liked talkers. He looked appraisingly at Grissom. He still remembered the curly haired boy who used to keep his nose in a book all the time- But forty years hadn't passed in vain.

"You look like your father." He said in a disappointed tone.

Grissom frowned. He couldn't remember his father's face. He couldn't, despite the photo albums that he had kept all these years. He glanced up and noticed that Jones was closely watching his reactions. Grissom reminded himself to thread carefully. He needed to act as if Jones was just another criminal/monster he had to interview and not let his feelings get in the way. With that thought in mind, he looked back at Jones.

"What do you want?" Jones asked after a moment. "Do you want money? I have nothing left." he said. And then he snorted, "And if you want to get me more years in prison-"

When Grissom didn't say anything, Jones looked appraisingly at him, giving the younger man the unnerving feeling that his thoughts were out in the open for Jones to read.

"Oh, I know what this is," Jones said softly, "Someone's been seeing a shrink." He said mockingly. "Right? Someone's been getting therapy and now needs 'closure'."

Grissom didn't contradict him.

"Is that what you're here for?" Jones demanded.

Grissom shook his head.

"You know," Grissom said calmly. "for years I thought I'd killed you."

"You almost did." Jones admitted, and he chuckled. "It was a nice shot, Virgil. _I_ taught you well, after all."

Grissom thought it was interesting that Jones actually wanted to take the credit for the shooting. He watched Jones with some curiosity now; he had always liked to observe criminals and learn from them. It helped him understand their minds and their motives. This was a chance he didn't want to miss. Jones on the other hand, couldn't stand the silence.

"So," he said, "Are you ready to talk about the past Virgil?" he briefly paused, and then he added, "Can you _deal_ with _feelings_?" he said mockingly. "Feelings, Virgil; you know which ones I'm talking about: shame, guilt, resentment; the therapists' triumvirate." He said and waited. Grissom stared back blankly and Jones went on, "I know all about it; _I_'ve been in therapy too. Court-ordered." He spread his arms, in a grand fashion, "Doctors love me here, did you know that? I'm one of their successes. According to them I'm 'cured'; as if I'd been sick." He smiled, "Do you think I was _sick_, Virgil?" He challenged. He seemed intent on getting some reaction from Grissom – any kind of reaction. "I wasn't. I'm not. I'm simply different from them. A different breed-"

Grissom held back any comment he might have had.

"The shrinks taught me to deal with my actions and _forgive_ myself." Jones said, and he was glad to see a brief reaction from Grissom –a mere blinking of the eyes, but just enough to reassure himself that Virgil wasn't in control here. "They've helped me understand myself" he added, "_I_'m a victim, Virgil. I have a weakness. I was _allowed_ to act on my desires. If others had said 'n_o_'," and he paused meaningfully, "I wouldn't be here." He looked at Grissom, "_You_ never said no-"

"Not after you promised to break every bone in my mother's body." Grissom replied before he could stop himself. He knew Jones was gratified; his taunting had provoked a reaction.

"Ah, yes. _Mommy_." Jones smiled longingly, "Sweet, silent, _deaf_ mommy. I remember her every night, you know. Her skin- so smooth; like a child's." he sighed, "Yeah, I remember how happy I made her… How happy we were. Remember? We were a happy family. You two never complained-"

"No," Grissom admitted. "I just shot you."

Jones briefly narrowed his eyes. He was angry now but he got a hold of himself.

"You ruined everything, you know." He said softly "And all for what? Do you think mommy was grateful to you for destroying the best relationship she ever had? Do you think she _appreciated_ having to take the rap for ya?" Grissom's expression of disbelief made him laugh. "You didn't know?" he leant a little, "You don't know everything, do you." he snorted, "Well, in case you don't _remember_, let me tell you what you did: You made mommy cry and you made her turn against me. Even as the ER doctors worked on my wounds, she was there, waving her hands in the air, telling me not to involve you! She was even making threats, the bitch!" he said, getting agitated, "She told everybody that _she_ had shot me by accident, and the dumb cops believed her-"

"And you couldn't tell the truth either," Grissom said quietly, "you couldn't afford your friends to know. Cops would have asked me a lot of questions."

"I thought so, at the time." He admitted. He had regained his composure, "But she wouldn't have let you talk to anybody, Virgil. Mommy loved denial, didn't she? She simply thought you'd forget." he scoffed "But I always knew you'd remember. I knew that you would come. I _know_ everything, Virgil." Donald boasted "I remember every thing I've ever done. I remember every word, every scream, _everything_. People see this," he said, glancing down, "and they pity me. But they don't know that I have power. You wouldn't believe how powerful and important I am! I'm your biggest secret." He smiled when he saw the deep blush on Grissom's face, "All of you come to me, asking for absolution; asking me to free them from the guilt they feel - asking me to _please_ get out of their dreams so you can move on-"

Years of dealing with criminals had taught Grissom to keep his reactions under control, but this time it was difficult for him to just listen.

"You destroyed people's lives-" Grissom said softly

"No." he whispered, "I liberated their true selves. Don't you see? All you have to do is bow to me and accept the way things are, Virgil. Then the conflict will end." he looked into Grissom's eyes, "All you need to do is to accept that I'm a part of your life; I've lived in your dreams-"

"I _shot_ you in each one of my nightmares-" Grissom said as calmly as he could.

"Yes!" Jones said, gratified, "And that's why you're here! You're afraid, aren't you?" he leant on the table and spoke slowly, "You're afraid of _IT_. You know what I'm talking about. You've probably slapped your wife a couple of times and you're afraid you're losing control. Or maybe you've been a little too free with your fists every time people mess up." He lowered his voice, "Maybe- maybe you punished your kids and wondered if you overdid it. All these years, you've been wondering if you're _you_… or _me_." He paused, "But there's no conflict here, Virgil." He said reassuringly, "All you have to do is embrace IT." He said softly, "You are like me."

Grissom stared at Jones for a long time.

"You know, Don." Grissom said tonelessly, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should embrace it. I could start by stuffing your filthy socks in your mouth. You know, to shut you up while I break every bone in your body."

Donald Jones looked up, wide eyed.

"You wouldn't dare to kill me-"

"I'm not talking about killing you," Grissom said calmly; "I'm talking about breaking your bones until they juggle like marbles in that old sack you call a body. It _is _easy to do it –you told me so many times-"

"The guard won't let you-" he threatened feebly.

"I don't think he'll hear anything" Grissom said conversationally, "He's old. Maybe he's a little deaf -" He smiled, "That would be ironic, don't you think? You'd be the one screaming and nobody would hear you-" He lowered his voice, "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

Jones tried to keep a poker face, but he was breathing hard and his eyes were bulging. Grissom watched him closely, enjoying the feeling of power that the old man's fear gave him. He could almost taste his revenge. He could see it happening too. He'd kick Jones - he visualized his foot breaking the misshapen bones – arms, legs, face; he'd break one bone for each bruise he had ever had to invent an excuse for (until his teachers thought he was the clumsiest kid in the world); one for each of the nightmares he'd ever suffered; and he'd crush Jones for turning him into a man who suspected everybody and didn't know how to love-

Grissom grimly realized there weren't enough bones in Jones' body; he'd kick Jones to death and it still wouldn't be enough.

_He'd kill Jones but nothing would change. _He realized suddenly. _He'd only destroy the life he had built up these past years._

Grissom's anger slowly gave way to frustration; at that moment he almost hated himself for having the capacity to think of consequences, but the fact was that he just couldn't do this. He was not that kind of person. He'd never know what kind of man he would have been, if Jones hadn't come to his life, but Grissom knew who he was now. He had his integrity, his job, everything he had fought so hard to have.

Grissom felt as if he had just woken up from a nightmare; when he looked down he realized he had been gripping the table so harshly that his knuckles were white and his fingers hurt. The bittersweet taste of revenge made him nauseous now; he had to take several deep breaths until he calmed down. When he felt he could face Jones again, he looked up and had the chilling feeling that the look on Jones face wasn't one of fear but _anticipation_.

It was. Jones _wanted_ Grissom to hit him; he was counting on it. Grissom saw things clearly for the first time: The guard would intervene even before Grissom did much damage. Grissom could imagine the rest: Jones wouldn't be badly hurt, but just in enough bad shape to get some privileges at the infirmary: Good food, books and papers within his reach; and on Sundays he'd be there as the rest of the inmates got visits from their _children_ and _grandchildren_…

And Grissom's life would be ruined.

Grissom took a hard look at himself. He had spent decades punishing himself for shooting Donald Jones, but he had not killed him. His life had been out of control, but now it was in his own hands.

It took him a while, but eventually he pushed his chair back.

"Goodbye, old man." He mumbled.

"What? That's it?" Donald whined, opening his eyes wide "That's all you intend to do, you wimp?" he spat. He desperately tried to grab Grissom's arm, but he was just too far away. "What are you, a coward? Do you think you can just leave?"

Grissom took a last look at the monster before turning his back on him.

"I don't appreciate this!" screamed Jones, "You've destroyed the memory I had of you! You were so small and beautiful, and now that image is ruined-"

Grissom swallowed hard. That was some consolation; at least he wasn't feeding this freak's dreams anymore. But his hands were trembling and he needed to get out of this place.

Pitt looked up. Uh, oh. Dr. Grissom looked like he was barely holding it together. Most of the 'talkers' usually went to the john after talking to Jones. They all threw up, as if that man had poisoned them. Maybe he had.

"Are you all right, Mr. Grissom?" he said kindly

"What? Yes." He said evasively.

"That's a nasty guy." Pitt said. Grissom didn't look up. "Manipulative, too." Pitt added, "He gets all teary eyed at will. But if you look carefully, you see something in his eyes… and your blood freezes."

Grissom didn't comment; he simply signed his name and handed back his Visitor ID.

"He recites entire passages from the Bible," Pitt said, "he says things like, 'I didn't find Jesus; Jesus found me' and the Sunday preachers love him" he rolled his eyes, "And the guys from social services –guys who have worked in prisons for years and should know better- they believe his act too. It's crazy, you know? But it's helped me understand-"

"Understand what?" Grissom, asked impatiently.

The old guard shrugged.

"Well," Pitt shrugged, "He fools people who have worked here all their lives. Can you imagine how easy it was for him to fool lonely women and kids, who had never encountered evil before?"

He handed Grissom his ID and his cell phone.

Grissom looked up. He understood at last.

"You're right." He said, "It wasn't their fault."

Grissom walked to the parking lot without turning back.

He drove fast. He didn't know exactly where he was going, he only wanted to put some distance between himself and that hospital. But eventually, he decided to stop. The migraine that had been shyly tapping his forehead hadn't bloomed, but he didn't want to take any chances. Plus, it looked like it was going to rain.

He found a parking space at a mall. He searched for the migraine medicine he took everywhere with him and chewed a couple of pills. He sat back and watched as the rain started to fall. His hands were trembling and he had to grab the steering wheel to calm down.

After a while, Grissom rolled down his window and let the rain wash away his tears.

* * *

I promise, the happy ending is near…


	14. The Day we Meet Again part two

THE DAY WE MEET AGAIN part two

I had already published this, but I made a little revision. Boy, was I red-faced when I noticed some big mistakes. I really wished I had a better grasp of the language! Still, I hope I'm improving…

Note: The case that Sara mentions is based on one of the cases described in the book "Proclaimed in Blood" by Hugh Miller. There's a little note about it at the end of the story.

* * *

_But just in case you're wondering_

_What it's really on my mind_

_It wasn't what you took my love_

_It's what you left behind_

_And just in case you're wondering_

_Will it really be the same?_

_You know we're only living for_

_The day we meet again_

Grissom closed the window after a while.

He closed his eyes and leant his forehead against the steering wheel. He remembered the last time he had sat like this, in Las Vegas. It felt like a lifetime ago- He remembered the despair he'd felt that night. The absolute hopelessness. He didn't feel that today. He was exhausted, most of all. He wanted to sleep; he didn't care that he was in a public place or that he still hadn't found a hotel. He didn't want to decide, or to think, even… Right now all he wanted to do was to sit in his car and watch the falling rain. It was hypnotic.

After a while, he leant against the door and fell asleep, lulled by the sound and the sight of the rain, a curtain of water isolating him from the outside.

The sound of laughter woke him up.

Grissom opened his eyes and frowned; he rarely fallen asleep in his car- and then he realized that this was a rental. He sat up, suddenly alert. Slowly, everything came to him – the Martins; the leave of absence; going to Chicago, flying to Santa Barbara… visiting Donald Jones…

And Sara.

He shook his head; he didn't want to think about her right now.

He reached out to wipe the fogged up car windows with the cuff of his jacket. He looked outside. Night had fallen it wasn't raining anymore. He had a clear view of the mall and the parking lot, and it looked so festive against the darkness, it reminded him a little of Las Vegas. Only instead of hookers or gamblers, there were couples and entire families going in.

Grissom stared wistfully at them. He wondered what it would be like to go to a mall, holding someone's hand- Sara's, for instance. Or a child's. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine doing something _normal,_ like buying ice cream or pop corn for a daughter or a son… or flowers for a wife.

No, not flowers, he thought immediately, a potted plant-

The phone rang and out of habit, he immediately answered.

"Grissom."

"Hey, baby-"

Sara.

"Sara?" he hesitated, "What's up?" He cringed, the moment those words got out of his mouth. _Way to greet a girlfriend_. She didn't seem to mind, though.

"Nothing. Just missing you." She answered. "Where are you?"

"I'm-" he didn't finish the sentence.

"Your aunt says you left Chicago yesterday." Sara said after a while.

He closed his eyes, cursing himself. He should have told her.

"I'm in Santa Barbara." He explained.

"Oh." She hesitated, "Are you visiting anyone?"

"No. I'm just spending a couple of days here. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

In the silence that followed, he wondered whether to tell her why he'd come to this city and what he'd done. Some day, perhaps. In a year or two. If they were still together.

"So… what have you been doing?" she asked when the silence became unbearable.

"Nothing." He said evasively.

"Nothing? I thought Santa Barbara was a nice city-"

"It's raining," he explained, "I've been staying in my room-"

"Oh damn," she cringed, "Did I wake you up?"

"I wasn't asleep, Sara." he said soothingly.

"You sound sleepy." She insisted.

"Sara, I wasn't asleep."

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing." he said, but he knew she wouldn't believe that. "Watching TV-" he amended.

"What were you watching?"

"An old movie-" he said slowly.

"Which one?" she insisted.

"It was just an old movie, Sara."

"What was it about?" she asked.

Grissom looked around, trying to improvise,

"Well…" he started, "There was this guy who wanted to confront someone who had hurt him in the past-"

"What do you mean, 'confront' him?"

Grissom took a deep breath.

"He wanted to kill him." He said abruptly.

"Whoa; that's a bit extreme-"

"Yeah-" Grissom admitted, "But he felt he deserved it. Revenge, I mean." He paused. He had a sudden need to tell her everything. He lowered his voice, "Perhaps he thought that if he killed the person who hurt him, he'd somehow erase the damage done to him." He paused again, "He wanted to do it," he whispered, "He could almost smell the blood, Sara; he could almost _see_ the damage he'd do to the other guy. He wanted revenge more than anything else-"

"And then?" she urged.

He couldn't tell her the truth. He didn't want to admit it, but deep down he felt like a wimp for not hurting Donald.

"I don't know," he said evasively, "I doze off."

"Grissom!" she groaned, "I wanted to know the ending!"

"Sorry." He said sheepishly.

"Aw, it's ok, baby. But what do you think? Did the good guy get his revenge?"

"I think he chickened out." Grissom said quietly.

"Why?"

Grissom looked outside before answering.

"I guess he realized he'd never be able to erase anything." He said with a sigh, "And he'd seen enough violence to last him a lifetime, Sara. He didn't want to be a part of it." He paused to take a deep breath, "He'd been a good guy most of his life, so-" he smiled faintly, "He chose to go on being a good guy."

"Well, _I_ love to see bad guys pay, even if it's only on TV." She said dryly. "We don't have enough of that, you know."

"What does that mean?" he frowned.

"Nothing," she said quickly, "Nothing, it's just-" she sighed, "It's frustrating, Grissom. You know how it is; people hurt and kill others and get away with it- Sometimes it seems there is no justice-"

"Sara? What's this all about?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing. I just- How do you do it, Griss? How do you keep doing this job, knowing that no matter what you do, there's no guarantee that you'll get the bad guy?"

"Sara, tell me what happened."

"I had a couple of bad nights here." She admitted, "It's one of the reasons I called. I mean… I've been missing you like crazy, but I also needed to talk to you about something. I made a mistake-"

"What kind of mistake?" he was getting worried now.

"I'm going to tell you, but first I'd like to apologize for the things I said the other day."

"What things?"

"I said that you cared too much about the evidence and that you should care more about the victim." she replied.

She paused, but Grissom didn't make any comment. He was actually holding his breath, fearing the worst.

"I also said that love had given me some new insights." She added, "Well… Do you remember the case I was investigating?" she said, "The raped wife, the murdered husband-?"

"Yeah," he admitted cautiously, "You said you had a suspect- "

"Exactly. Well, our suspect committed suicide, Grissom; he shot himself."

"Whoa." He exclaimed, "Case closed."

"Yeah, that's what we thought." She said, "Nick and I even hurried to tell Mrs. Rowe that she wouldn't have to face her tormentor ever again. She was so glad, she cried-" Sara paused for a moment. "We continued working on the case, but only to finish the paperwork. In our minds, the case was solved, Grissom. I confess that for a while I was only looking for the evidence that _fitted_ Mrs. Rowe's story; I believed _her_- she was the victim, after all. And then last night - " she sighed, "Maybe it was because I was missing you so much, but…" she gulped, "I suddenly asked myself, 'what would Gil do if he were here? What would he say?' And then I looked at the blood evidence as unemotionally as I could. I looked at the pictures, and I visited the crime scene again… I couldn't believe what I saw. There was no blood spatter on the walls, just a light spray…and on the floor, there were _drops _of bloodMr. Rowe wasn't hacked to death, Grissom; someone simply made all those cuts on him, quietly and methodically, but not in a frenzied attack. I was wondering what else I'd missed from the rest of the evidence, when Doc Robbins called to tell me that Mr. Rowe's injuries definitely contradicted his wife's testimony. Mr. Rowe didn't have any defensive wounds either, and that was very suspicious, so he sent some blood samples to the lab, and-"

"He was drugged." Grissom finished.

"Oh, yeah." She said, "She used her own sleeping pills. _She_ killed her husband, Griss; she did everything herself- She cut him up and then staged the attack on herself; she smashed her head against the walls, put things into her body to make us believe she'd been raped and brutalized -"

Grissom exhaled.

"And Fowles didn't commit suicide-"

"No, she killed him too." she said mournfully, "Robbins established that Fowles was already dead by the time she staged the fight at her home, and Nick found her prints all over Fowles' place. She had been there many times before the night of the murder. She was Fowles' lover-"

"Why didn't she clean up after herself?" Grissom frowned, "That's sloppy for a cold-blooded killer-"

"She was so focused on the killing part, she just didn't care about the rest." she reasoned. "Plus, she's an amateur actress, and she thought everybody would simply believe her act."

"Did she say _why _she did it?"

"Her husband was going to divorce her, and Fowles was going to dump her too, so-"

Grissom sighed.

"Are you ok, Sara?"

"You're not surprised, are you?" she said peevishly, "Nothing horrifies you-"

"Sara, we know what people are capable of -" he said reasonably.

"Yes, but doesn't it bother you? Doesn't it ever upset you, that there are people like her out there? I mean, you should have seen this woman; when I told her we had all this evidence against her, she merely smirked. She was _proud_ of herself; she couldn't wait to tell us what she did."

"She felt she was entitled to get revenge." He mused aloud.

"Exactly!" she said, "And she's so glad she did it, she doesn't even care that she's going to prison! Do you know what pisses me off the most? How she looked at Nick and me in the eye and lied to us so easily. She _cried_ for her husband and made us believe he'd been the love of her life… we almost cried with her-"

"Sara." He interrupted, "She didn't do this to _you_; don't make it personal. You're not- _we_ are not here to judge these people. Our job is to stop them from getting away with murder, and you accomplished that. You did your job. Don't ever regret feeling compassion. Ok?"

"Ok," she accepted a bit calmer, "It upset me more than it should," she admitted. She lowered her voice, "You know, for a moment I understood why some people take justice in their own hands. Like that guy in your movie. Have you ever felt like that?"

"Sara, violence has to stop somewhere; it better stops with us." he said quietly, "_We_ have a choice; we're not sociopaths." He was musing aloud, "We know that all acts of violence have a price."

"Yes, but-" she paused, and then she sighed, "You're right. Don't mind me; I'm just blowing off steam," she admitted sheepishly.

"That's ok. Talking helps, Sara. And you know…there's something we forget too often."

"What's that?"

"We're only human." He replied, "We should learn to forgive ourselves for not being able to do everything." He answered. "We do our job and it's not enough half the time but it is _not _our fault. We can't help to make mistakes-" He was thinking of little Melvin Martin now. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to forgive himself for what had happened. His words were more for Sara's sake than his own. "-all we can do is learn from them."

"Griss, are you ok?" she asked, "You sound as if you had a cold-"

"Yeah-" he said evasively, "It's this rain, I guess-"

"Why don't you come back?" she pleaded softly, "It's sunny and warm here-"

"I know." He said, taking a deep breath, "I know, I just have things to do-" his voice trailed off. "I'll make it up to you." He said after a pause, "I promise-"

"Oh, I hope so," she said, trying to sound flirty, but failing miserably, "Oh, damn," she sighed, "It's just that… I miss you." She said wistfully, "I miss you so much-"

"Sara-"

"It gets so lonely-" She lamented, "I lie in bed for hours, you know? I just lie there, thinking of you and… " she gulped, "It's so damn frustrating-"

"I know." Grissom said, "Sara, it's hard for me too."

"Is it?"

"You have no idea," he sighed.

"Would it bother you if I said I'm glad?" she said, and he knew she was smiling. "Listen." She said more seriously, "I can deal with anything, ok? I just need to know that you'll be back soon."

"I will, Sara." He said reassuringly, "I just need to deal with some things first. I'm-" He hesitated, "I'm going to visit my mom in Oregon."

"Are you?" she was really surprised, "Oh, wow, Grissom; I'm glad- You two need to talk things out-"

"Yeah." He admitted, then he neatly changed the subject, "Hum, as for that case, Sara-"

"It's solved." She said, "That's what matters, right?"

"Yeah. But are you going to be ok?"

"I will. I was angry," she admitted, "But you're right, I was taking it too personally and that was a mistake." she sighed, "Feelings cloud my judgment sometimes. I've got to learn not to do that-"

"Sara, feelings are important too-" he protested, "You've taught me that."

"Oh. Have I?" she seemed to be smiling, "Good." She said, "Hey," she added after a moment, "_When_ are you coming back?" He didn't answer immediately and she cringed. She hated to sound so needy. He'd be back when he was ready, not before. "Hey, look." She said softly, "Just call me when you do, will you? Call me from the airport, and no matter where I am, I'll go and pick you up-" she said, "I'll leave any crime scene and any autopsy to pick you up-"

"Thank you baby," he said softly. He frowned when he realized he'd said the 'b' word, but he didn't take it back; it was really the best term of endearment he could think of right now. "Thank you."

* * *

__

_Mother you left me, but I never left you_

_I needed you, you never needed me_

_So I've just got to tell you goodbye, goodbye-_

_('Mother' by John Lennon)_

Grissom was pleased. He had timed his arrival well and had been able to check into a hotel just before coming to see his mother.

If anybody had asked him why he didn't stay at his mother's house, he would have frowned. He would never have considered that an option; he had never even been inside her house. He always met her at a public place: A museum, a restaurant, or a hotel. Or an auditorium, like tonight. Her mother's former students had decided to celebrate her 70th Birthday by holding a small ceremony. They had flown in from all over the country for this. Professor Grissom had really made a difference on several generations of deaf kids and their families and they wanted to thank her properly.

Grissom entered the small auditorium and was immediately spotted by a young woman.

"Dr. Grissom!" she greeted, speaking the words and signing them at the same time.

Grissom signed his greeting.

"Come with me, please," She said, gently taking his arm and leading him to the front row. "Here's your seat. Are you staying for dinner?" she signed quickly, not waiting for his answer. "I hope you are. Please excuse me." She said and went to accommodate the new arrivals.

Grissom sat and looked around. Some people in the back rows already knew him and waved. Grissom waved back and then turned his attention to the stage. They had set a velvet armchair in the middle, with several chairs arranged on each side. There were also several flower arrangements, a big banner that read, "Happy Birthday, Professor Grissom," and a big screen on the left.

Grissom felt a bit restless. He hadn't come just for this celebration; he had come to _talk _to his mother. He had discovered many things about himself these past weeks and he needed to share this new knowledge with her. He needed some answers too. He had so many questions-

He was so engrossed by his thoughts, that at first he didn't notice that people were getting up and turning to look at the stage. When he did, he saw his mother being led to the stage by two young girls.

Professor Grissom sat on the big armchair and smiled at the young men and women who sat on the chairs around her. A girl got up and started signing. Everybody in the auditorium turned to the screen to watch her as she signed her words. After her brief introduction, a guy got up and talked about Professor Grissom.

Grissom had a little trouble following the quick-as-lightning movements of his hands at first, but he understood most of what was being said. They were all practically saying the same thing: How Professor Grissom had understood their problems, how she had been more than a teacher- this guy was practically saying that Professor Grissom had been like a mother to him.

How ironic, thought Grissom.

Grissom sighed and looked around. These affairs always turned out to be longer than expected. Not that he was looking forward to the end either. He knew that as soon as this ceremony ended, his mother's former pupils –now all grown up- would approach him and tell him what a lucky man he was to have such a mother. In the past he had always muttered, '_Yeah, right_," without really knowing why; all he had were some vague memories of something unpleasant happening to him years ago… But tonight these memories were not vague.

Grissom thought again of those questions of his. During his flight over from Santa Barbara he had told himself over and over that he was entitled to some answers, but deep down he was afraid of them too. What if they were not what he needed to hear? If he asked her, _Did you take the rap for me?' _or _'Were you angry with me for ruining things and for shooting him?_, what would she say? What if she said yes?

Grissom forced himself to stop thinking of this for a moment. He didn't want to get emotional. He simply wanted to talk to her, calmly and rationally, and accept everything she told him. He only wanted to know the truth.

The truth.

Grissom wondered what these kids would say if they knew _his_ truth about Professor Grissom. He smiled faintly. They would simply not believe it. They loved her too much to care.

Well, there were other truths about their teacher that only he knew: For instance, they didn't know that she had gone back to school at a time when deaf adults weren't encouraged to do so, or that she had been forced to study in children's classrooms where kids ridiculed her and teachers disliked her. It had been extremely hard for her… but she had prevailed.

Grissom admired that.

Actually, he had always found it easy to admire Professor Grissom. He had the highest regard for her. It was the woman behind that he had trouble with. Whenever he met his mother in private, he simply didn't know what to say. They barely hugged or speak, and they immediately turned their attention elsewhere- a book, a piece of art, or a meal. They were polite, respectful of each other's privacy and their own. They acted as strangers who shared the same name…

Well, he didn't wonder why they were like this, anymore.

Grissom turned his attention back to the stage. One after the other, the former students talked of his mother, but it was the last who really surprised him: She told of some courageous actions performed by his mother: Going to the authorities when she suspected this girl was being abused, and then paying for counseling-

Grissom didn't know his mother was capable of such heroic acts.

It was hard to imagine a 'gutless bitch' doing all this, he thought cynically, and suddenly he had the feeling that his mother had changed so much that she simply didn't remember _his _past. He suspected that if he asked her about Donald Jones, she would simply look blankly at him and deny everything.

He looked at his mother again.

Professor Grissom's face graced the screen, and Grissom noticed how moved she was by the man who was speaking right now, and how proud she looked as he described his achievements.

Grissom wondered if she had ever been this proud of him. It seemed that she had never taken any real interest in his life. Did she even know what he did for a living? Suddenly he was tempted to go up and say, 'Hey, I've done great things, too; be proud of me!

He scoffed. It seemed petty to think like this. After all, _he_ wasn't deaf –

He froze.

He ignored the rest of the speeches, concentrating instead on that last thought. It was an elusive idea that suddenly took form… And it was quite a revelation.

It all came down to this: _He was not deaf_.

By the time Professor Grissom stood up and thanked her students, he was looking at her with a new understanding. Now he thought he knew why they had acted like strangers.

Being deaf had been a source of pain for her mother; if he had been deaf, they would have shared that pain together. But he wasn't deaf, and in her eyes, he'd been born with all the advantages. No matter the abuse he suffered or the problems he faced; in her mind he was better off than any of these kids, better off than her. In his mother's eyes, he'd never really needed her – or she'd never felt she could do anything for him. And when he rejected her and asked her to leave him alone –she had accepted it and simply started a new life as Professor Grissom. His role as a mother was finished.

Grissom quietly came to a conclusion he had missed all those years: She had moved on with her life-

But he had been left behind. Despite the passing of time – forty years, for God's sake – a part of him was still calling out for his mom, waiting for her to save him.

It had to end. Grissom took a deep breath and made a decision. He couldn't keep waiting for his mother; he needed to grow up and he needed to move on.

Grissom looked up and this time he tried to see his mother through the eyes of an adult, and not from a damaged kid's perspective.

It was heartbreaking.

What he saw was a fragile, thin woman who had been a borderline anorexic for forty years; someone who didn't have any friends or anybody to share her life. Sure, she'd had a rewarding career and she had helped all these kids, but she had isolated herself. She never let anybody come close. Someone had told Grissom that professor Grissom visited her students' homes and meddled in their lives, but she never let anybody enter her home.

Grissom realized that whatever mistakes she had made, she had punished herself for them.

"Mom." He whispered, "I'm so sorry."

He saw his mother rise to thank her students. She was witty. She was sweet- she seemed to remember everybody by name. The audience waved their hands in appreciation.

When the ceremony ended, everybody rose, hurrying to greet the professor. Grissom avoided the students who looked like they wanted to talk to him and forced his way through the crowd until he reached his mother. He gently patted her shoulder.

She turned.

"Mom." He said, but when he looked into her eyes, all he could think of was that she was looking at the man who had shot her boyfriend and looked like the husband who had hurt her. She was smiling at him, and he forced himself to sign a single word. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." She signed, "Are you coming to the banquet?"

He didn't have time to answer. The same girl who had led him to his seat was now taking his mother's arm.

"Oh, sorry Dr. Grissom, but you mustn't be selfish!" she said with a smile, "You have her all year around; we only have a few hours to share-"

"Of course," He said. He looked at his mother. He had only a few seconds for this… he needed to do something. He awkwardly touched her face, and carefully said, "I'm very proud of you, mom."

Her eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth and it seemed that she was going to _say_ something… but she never had a chance; her students were already taking her away. But she kept her eyes on him... until they turned a corner.

Grissom stood alone in the middle of the hallway.

"I forgive you." He whispered. "I love you. I'll move on now."

After a moment, he turned and left.

* * *

He was at the airport, staring at people coming and going. He decided not to stay in Oregon; he wasn't ready to talk to his mother. All those questions of his needed answers, but it wasn't fair to expect this mother to deal with them.

He was trying to figure out what to do and where to go now. He needed someone to put things into perspective- Actually, what he needed was a shoulder to cry on, but he didn't want to burden any of the people he loved, and that ruled out going back to Vegas or Chicago.

He took a deep breath and dialed his friend Gary Cole's number.

"Hey, Gar."

"Gil? Heeey!" he greeted, "How're you?"

"I'm-" he paused, "I'm ok."

"Great. What are you up to? I talked to Sidle and she told me you were in Chicago."

"I'm in Oregon now." he said.

"Oh, you saw your mom? How's she?"

"She's fine, but she's a bit lonely, I think. Could you drop her a line or two? It might cheer her up."

"I will." He said cautiously, "Are you ok, Gil?"

"I'm…" he took a deep breath, "I need some help, Gar."

Cole paused.

"You do?" he asked after a moment. "Tell me about it." He said cautiously.

"I just need someone to talk to." He said, trying not to make a big deal, "I thought you might know someone who -"

"Someone to talk to?" he repeated and Grissom snorted.

"You want me to spell it out, don't you? Ok, here goes: I need a shrink. Happy?"

Cole didn't say anything.

"Gar? You there?" Grissom asked, "Look, if this makes you uncomfortable-"

"It doesn't!" he said quickly, "I'm surprised, that's all. I mean, I'm _glad_ that you want to talk, Gil. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, I am. I've put it off too long. I just don't want to do this in Vegas-"

"I understand." Cole said. He knew very well that defense lawyers loved to use this kind of information to undermine prosecution proceedings. "I'll find you someone here." He said firmly, "When are you coming to San Francisco?"

"I can be there tomorrow at noon."

"Great. We'll get the guest room ready for you-"

Grissom faltered a little. He'd never get used to people doing nice things for him.

"Thanks, Gar." He managed to say, "Maybe some other time."

"Gil, we would really like to have you." He insisted, "It's about time you got reacquainted with your champions too, you know." he added.

Grissom was going to say no again, but he paused. For years, his friend had felt guilty for not helping him. Maybe it was time for Gary to heal too.

"Look, why don't I check into a hotel that's close to your home?" proposed Grissom, "Then we I can drop in for dinner or breakfast, and talk. And I can help cleaning up cages too."

"Great! I'll tell Maggie."

EPILOGUE

Grissom adjusted his tie before entering the CSI lab. He wasn't due for work yet, but he had decided to drop by. He needed to get used to the routine again, but he also needed to see his coworkers' reaction.

He didn't meet anyone; it seemed that everyone was busy at some crime scene. Or at the rec room, he thought morosely.

The first person he met was the supervisor herself.

"Catherine? Where's everybody?"

"Relax," she said dismissively, "Technically the night shift has not yet begun, Mr. Impatient." She wasn't surprised to see him; he had called her to announce he'd drop by. But she did a double take when she noticed the clothes he was wearing. "What's with the suit?"

"I have a meeting later." He shrugged.

"Damn, I wish Sara were still here-" Catherine muttered, "She would have appreciated the view."

"Where's she?" he asked.

"Probably home. It's her free night."

"Oh." He said indifferently, "Ok, Catherine; let's talk about your cases."

Grissom was sitting at the visitor's chair, reading some reports. After a moment, he started to notice that she was glancing over his shoulder when she thought he wasn't looking. Intrigued, he turned to the door, just in time to see about a dozen people gathering by the open door. They were mostly members of the night crew, but there were also a couple of guys from the day shift. Jacqui stepped forward. She was carrying a small cake in her hands.

"Welcome back, Grissom." She said.

He stood up. He was tongue tied, but only for a moment.

"Thank you." He said, really not knowing what else to say.

Fortunately, they knew him too well to expect speeches from him. They simply entered the office and shook his hand, murmuring words of welcome. They were obviously glad to see him, but they knew better than to invade his personal space or make a big deal about his return.

The exception was Greg, who clapped his back.

"Hey, boss. Glad to see you back."

"Thanks, Greg." He said. Then, to everybody's surprise, he took the cake from Jacqui's hands and settled it on the desk. He took the knife that Warrick offered and cut a slice. He looked at his friends and colleagues and said, "Thank you, everybody."

* * *

_And just in case you're wondering_

_Will it really be the same?_

_You know we're only living for_

_The day we meet again_

_So hold on, and don't let go_

_Time heals, you know_

_I know…_

Later that evening, Grissom checked out the time: 7:05. He had arrived almost half an hour early, but he didn't mind. He wanted to enjoy the anticipation. He glanced up and down the street, and smiled when he saw the bookstore. He walked up there to window shop. He looked at the books, but without paying much attention. He was thinking of all the things that had happened since the last time he had been here, when he had watched Sara leave with Hank.

That was in the past now.

The two weeks he had spent in San Francisco had helped him heal. He'd spent time with his old friend and he had talked to the therapist that Gary had recommended. He had relived painful moments, but he felt less burdened now. She had given him the names of a couple of therapists he might consult in Las Vegas; they were elderly retired shrinks who liked to play golf and listen. They were very discreet.

Yes, many things had changed, and for the best. Still, he was nervous and insecure about today. He had the uneasy feeling that his entire relationship with Sara depended on this date. He was willing to do anything to make it a success. He had made reservations at that Italian restaurant in the corner; he had cleaned up his home, in case they got back there afterwards... and he had even put on a suit and a tie.

Grissom nervously hoped Sara would like him dressed like this. He smiled a little, wondering if she might be having similar thoughts. Whatever she wore tonight, it would surely be a far cry from what she was wearing yesterday: She had picked him up at the airport –true to her word, she had come straight from a crime scene- and she was still wearing coveralls.

Yesterday they had barely had time to do more than kissing; she had to go to the lab and he needed to sleep. But they had talked on the phone afterwards, and Grissom had asked her to come here.

He had never forgotten seeing her wait for Hank, and he had never gotten over his wish to do something nice with her.

Grissom spotted her as soon as she turned the corner; she was ten minutes early. He enjoyed seeing her walk to him; she looked beautiful and sultry in a flowered dress that hugged her body in all the right places. She smiled when she saw him standing there.

"Hey." She greeted

"Hey." He said, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. They stepped back to admire each other.

"You look great in that suit." She said appreciatively, "Blue looks good on you."

He smiled.

"You look beautiful." he said quietly, "You _are _beautiful."

For a moment they simply stared at each other, enjoying this perfect moment.

Grissom gently tugged on her hand.

"Let's go." he said.

And they walked hand in hand to the restaurant, and towards the rest of their lives.

_So hold on, and don't let go_

_Time heals, you know_

_I know…_

THE END.

Thank you so much for reviewing my story! It was really encouraging.

Note:

In the book "Proclaimed in Blood", the woman not only kills he husband and her lover, she also kills the husband's girlfriend. Plus, she actually decapitates the husband.


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